


Anchored

by JolinarJackson



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Explicit Language, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Homicide, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-13 22:55:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 34,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29161518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JolinarJackson/pseuds/JolinarJackson
Summary: In a world in which Empaths are common and their gifts considered useful, Peter, as an Empath, is an outsider because his gift is irreversibly broken. Unable to initiate physical contact with anyone, Peter lives isolated and is forced to keep the few people in his life at a distance. His only escape is going out on patrol as Spider-Man and the friendship he developed with Deadpool as his alter ego.Peter's life changes dramatically when he and Deadpool accidentally touch, resulting in an unexpected Empathic bond that goes against everything Peter knows about his Broken Empathy. While trying to figure out what exactly is going on between them, Peter and Wade also join forces to stop a serial killer who seems to have taken up residence in New York, unaware that Spider-Man is one of his intended targets.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Peter Parker/Wade Wilson
Comments: 39
Kudos: 273
Collections: Spideypool Big Bang - The 2020 Collection





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note: This story was written for the SpideyPool Big Bang 2020. I’m so thrilled that I got to be a part of it! A special thank you goes to the artist I was paired with, violettavonviolet, who produced the wonderful art pieces in this story.  
> Beta: I’d like to thank tjc2009-2018 for beta-reading this story so patiently. It was quite a mess but you were always there to squash my insecurities and brainstorm ideas. Also kudos to Adsdragonlover who listened to my first rambly outline of the story and provided feedback to keep me going.
> 
>   
> **The wonderful art in this story was created by violettavonviolet. Click on[the link](https://violettavonviolet.tumblr.com/post/642182508605292544/art-masterpost) to find the art post!**

Hot summer days were the worst.

Peter sighed in relief when he opened the door to a refrigeration unit and picked out packs of cold cuts and – after studying the list he’d typed into his phone – cheese. He left the door open for a small moment longer, enjoying the cold air hitting his sweaty face, before guilt settled in and he let it swing shut.

There was a young woman his age picking out eggs in a refrigerator near him, a blazer slung over her forearm, her pencil skirt and sleeveless blouse slightly crumpled from a long day at the office. She kept sending him strange looks and Peter’s Empathy picked up on her emotions, which were lapping at him like small waves. She was stressed and tired, angry about something or at someone, and – whenever she looked at him – confused and a bit worried.

Peter could relate.

In a city full of people dressed to withstand the afternoon heat, Peter stood out like a sore thumb, huddled into his sweatshirt, jeans and fingerless gloves. The hood of the sweatshirt was pulled stubbornly into his face as he tried to dodge the stares thrown his way. He felt over-heated and uncomfortable. Being surrounded by so many people with so many warrying emotions was taxing for his Empathy, making him tired and tense as a result.

As children, Empaths learned to deal with their Gift, to tell the emotions of others apart from their own and to remain unaffected by them, easily able to deal with even the most stressful surroundings. However, Peter wasn’t like other Empaths.

Not anymore.

What had once come naturally to him was now hard work and the more people and emotions surrounded him, the harder it was to keep control. He knew the couple talking civilly about dinner was fighting, the annoyance in both of them strong enough that the argument was probably still fresh, he knew that the guy staring at a selection of magazines was grieving, that the woman scolding her son for running around was exhausted and that the old man looking down at his phone was worried.

His hands started to tremble and his head started to ache while Peter hurried towards the cash register, careful not to get too close to anybody and eager to get home, to get away from people.

When he stood in line, someone brushed past him with a muttered apology. Peter flinched, quickly jerking his hand away when his fingertips almost touched the guy’s bare arm in passing. He tried to hide his reaction but failed. The guy gave him and his outfit a strange look as he joined the woman waiting in front of Peter, muttering about drug addicts and putting a protective arm around her waist. The disgust and anger emanating from him caused Peter’s cheeks to flush and he quickly averted his eyes, huddling into himself, wishing for the line to be shorter.

To escape into his apartment and forget he was an Empath, even if just for a little while.

***

_When Peter was a kid, he was told that his Gift was rare and precious. Nobody knew when exactly Empaths had developed but they were featured in ancient writings and folk tales, so they had somehow always just …_ been there _. And they had always been seen as a blessing._

_“Being an Empath,” a friend of his mother once said to him, “is the most wonderful thing in the world. You’ll be a real hero one day, helping people in need.”_

_His mother’s face turned to stone at her words, her emotions changing from content and happy to annoyed and protective, and his father reached out to ruffle Peter’s hair, the direct contact magnifying the emotions Peter picked up from him; he was flooded with his father’s love and care, a deep fondness and pride that Peter knew only his parents felt for him making him smile._ _“He wants to become a scientist, don’t you?”_

_His mother’s friend laughed indulgently, a weird sting of offense emanating off her that Peter didn’t understand._

_It took a long time for him to comprehend why she – and others outside his family – felt that way. Shortly after his parents died and he switched to an elementary school near his Aunt May and Uncle Ben’s apartment, he learned that Empaths had a role to play in society. They went into nursing, teaching or social work. That was expected. Those were the fields where their Empathy thrived and was highly sought after._

_Of course, there were Empaths who went against this expectation, who became athletes, politicians or scientists. The school didn’t teach much about them, but Ben and May told him about them._

_But when Peter told his teacher that he could become a scientist just like them, she gave that indulgent-offended smile. “Your Gift can really help many people, Peter. Don’t you think it would be unfair not to do so?”_

_He came home crying and May and Ben held him, engulfing him with warmth and love and comfort, and told him how some people just didn’t_ understand _Empaths._

_In High School, Peter learned that it was more than that when a girl held a presentation about the bias against Empaths in modern society._

_“Nobody wants to hear it,” she told Peter later when he tentatively approached her during lunch to get more information, “everybody pretends people are okay with Empaths when many of them are really not.”_

_That was the moment Peter and Gwen became friends, their trio soon after completed by Harry when he transferred into their school. Gwen and Harry never expected Peter to be a typical Empath, supported him in his endeavor to become a scientist. And it wasn’t as if he didn’t use his Empathy to help._

_Whenever May and Ben were tired from a long week of work, Peter would hug them and push some happiness and love their way. Whenever Gwen got frustrated with that one teacher who graded her unfairly, Peter would take her hand and show her that he was in awe of her intellect and strength. Whenever Harry had a fight with his father, Peter would brush his hand as they walked next to each other in school, making sure that Harry knew he was supported and loved. In those moments, Peter understood why Empaths were seen as helpers, as healers and as nurturers. He enjoyed helping._

_Until the night Ben died when Peter was fifteen._

_The weeks before that night were a whirlwind of emotions and discoveries and uncertainty after Peter found out that he had –_ somehow _– gained superpowers. Suddenly, he was like one of the neighborhood vigilantes he read rants about in the_ Daily Bugle _or like one of the Avengers who were celebrated for their heroism on tv. He could run faster, climb walls and move with super-human agility, his senses dialed up to almost painful levels, his body’s ability to heal from wounds enhanced._

_He didn’t know what to do about it at first, keeping it a secret and sneaking out of his room for several nights to see how far he could push himself and then … one night, Ben was waiting for him to crawl back in through his window, way past midnight._

_His face was tense and his emotions a wild mix of disappointment, anger and concern. Peter wanted to tell him but he didn’t know how and Ben drew the wrong conclusions, asked him outright whether he was drinking … or worse. Peter could vividly remember the fight they had, how his anger spiraled out of control under the onslaught of Ben’s, his Empathy as much enhanced as his other senses. He remembered the way he stormed out into the rain to escape the feeling of drowning in rage, May calling after him with tears in her voice._

_Peter sought refuge from the rain in a drug store, though the cashier told him to leave if he didn’t plan on buying anything. Peter didn’t have any money on him and his request to wait the downpour out was met with an indifferent, “Not my problem.”_

_So he stepped back outside._

_He didn’t quite remember the robber entering the store, but he definitely recalled the sudden feeling of grim determination that wafted off the man as he passed. When he ran out the store just a couple of minutes later, he was still holding his gun and the cashier yelled for someone to stop him. And for a second, Peter thought about doing it. He would have been able to take the robber down, the guy’s strength no match for Peter’s newfound powers … but he didn’t. Out of pettiness or maybe misplaced pride._

_When the cashier stepped outside, his phone at his ear to call the police, he snapped at Peter, “Why didn’t you stop him?”_

_“Not my problem,” Peter answered and walked away._

_When he heard the gunshot just a couple of steps later, he broke into a run, a pit of dread opening in his stomach._

_By the time he arrived at the scene, the robber was gone and Ben was lying on the ground, gasping for breath, blood oozing from a wound in his chest. Peter didn’t remember much beyond that. He remembered kneeling down and taking Ben’s hand … and then waking up in a hospital three days later. It didn’t take long for Peter to realize that something had irrevocably changed. Suddenly, being touched hurt. He’d lost the ability to regulate the emotional input of others, his body reacting with shock and a shut-down to the overwhelming barrage of emotions that hit him, no matter whether happy or sad._

_After he passed out the fifth time and the doctors at the hospital told May they couldn’t help because it wasn’t a physical issue, she took him to see a therapist._

_“His Empathy’s broken,” he told May with a grim face. “Happens to Empaths when they encounter an emotional trauma such as feeling somebody dying or following extreme physical or emotional pain.”_

_“What can we do?” May asked, her hand reaching for Peter’s wrist … and stopping short when he flinched away._

_The therapist looked at Peter like he was something unfixable._

_“We can try PTSD countermeasures, but they haven’t proven overly successful for Empaths in this situation. We don’t know enough about how Empathy_ actually _works to deal with this. The most useful advice I can give you for the time being is to avoid triggers.”_

_“You mean touch,” May said. “You’re telling me I can’t touch my nephew? That he won’t be able to ever touch another person again?”_

_The therapist was indifferent. “He might get better, given time. There was some success made in cases like his with people close to the Empath. Sometimes, the Empath was able to touch them again after a while. It takes a therapy slowly reintroducing touch. Takes a lot of time, effort …” He let the sentence hang but it was clear what the third requirement was._

_“How much does it cost?” May asked._

_He smiled. “You’ll find that the prices are quite reasonable.”_

_It took Peter half a year to be able to touch May again without flinching, three more months until he was able to do so with Harry and Gwen._

_They stopped the therapy after that because May just couldn’t afford it._

***

Peter fiddled with the key to the house his apartment was located in, pushing his shoulder against the door to make it budge when it didn’t open immediately. He pulled his hood down with the hand not clutching the bag with groceries, taking a deep breath of the stale, cool air. His phone vibrated as he made his way up the stairs and he checked his messages with his free hand, finding a picture that Gwen had sent into the chat Peter shared with her and Harry.

Her and her boyfriend posing in front of Stonehenge.

He stopped a moment to look at the picture, taking in her bright smile, the way she leaned into Ethan. He caught himself feeling jealous over how easy I was for her and others to touch, to be close to people. Then he shook the thought off, reminding himself that it wasn’t Gwen’s fault he was this way.

It was entirely his own.

He sent a thumbs-up and a smiley, feeling like a liar.

Their trio wasn’t as close as it used to be. With Harry off to study in Harvard and Gwen in Oxford, Peter was left behind in New York. Both of them had come back las summer when May had died to attend the funeral and to help Peter pack up the apartment but they hadn’t stayed.

And Peter hadn’t been able to touch them without flinching.

Apparently, the distance had eroded their bond. By now, he would probably not be able to touch them without shutting down.

Peter unlocked the door to his apartment. The small living space — serving as living room and bedroom at once — was as tidy as he could get it between his internship and patrols, the bed crammed into one corner by the bathroom door while the couch and the old tv were pushed into the other, directly opposite the tiny kitchenette that was separated from the rest of the room by a kitchen bar with two threadbare stools. He set the groceries down and quickly transferred some of them into the fridge before he stripped off the sweatshirt and jeans … and breathed.

***

The sweltering heat of the day lingered well into the night. Even when the sun was gone, the asphalt was still charged with warmth and swinging between the canyons of the city felt like flying through warm wind. But Peter didn’t mind that much when he was in his suit. Everything going wrong in his life didn’t bother him that much when he got the chance to go on patrol.

As Spider-Man, he didn’t have to huddle into sweaters and avoid those around him. The suit covered him head to toe and the material was thin and permeable to air. Combined with the freedom of letting his powers show, of people waving and shouting greetings at him from the ground, with the distance he gained to the hustle and bustle of warrying emotions they carried around them like bubbles, it was the best he’d felt all day.

By eleven, he’d stopped a car thief, a bodega robbery and helped teary-eyed teenage girl who didn’t speak English to find her parents in the busy area around Time Square. It had been a good night so far and, as he checked his messages, it looked like it might become an even better one.

**DP (WADE)**

_Meet me for pizza?_

A picture of the pizza in question was attached — salami and olives, still steaming. Peter was starving.

_Be there in five_ , he answered.

***

Their usual meet-up point was a rooftop not too far from Queensborough Bridge, allowing for a nice view of the traffic crossing the river and the surrounding area.

Wade was perched on the edge of the roof with his feet dangling over the street twenty-eight stories below, his two katanas, usually strapped to his back, resting next to five pizza cartons stacked up by his hip. He was wearing his red-and-black suit, including the gun belt, but had removed the mask, leaving the deeply scarred skin of his face exposed to Peter.

He’d once joked that he wore the mask less to protect himself and more to protect others from seeing his disfigured face. Peter could only imagine the amount of stares and comments Wade had probably gotten regarding his appearance over the years. He still felt guilty for the little flinch he’d given when Wade had taken off his mask in front of him for the first time, when he’d seen the scars covering every available inch of skin on his hairless head. Then he’d caught the flash of nervousness in Wade’s dark eyes, the way his lips pulled down and his shoulders tensed up as if he was bracing himself for rejection … the way sadness and resignation had rolled off him in waves. He’d scolded himself for his reaction, had given a smile and asked Wade what they should have for dinner.

Their friendship has strengthened from there to a point where Wade was probably the only real relationship he had right now. Of course, there were Gwen and Harry, but they were in another country. He wasn’t close to any of the other interns at Stark Industries, the competitive environment a daily strain for his broken Empathy. He got along with most of the people at the homeless shelter he volunteered at, but mostly kept to himself there as well.

He knew he was isolating himself, but he also didn’t feel like breaking out of that habit.

He’d tried.

He’d tried finding friends while he’d been at college, but touching anyone was not an option and going out into public places was a strain on him so he wasn’t exactly fun to be around. A few friendships had started and fizzled out soon after. A romantic relationship was out of the question. It had become easier, after awhile, to not even try.

It was different with Wade, though. He didn’t expect any physical contact and even if they crowded close together to watch a situation unfold or to check something out, Peter always wore his suit. Besides, Wade’s emotional bubble was strangely calming. Peter didn’t know how it was even possible, because Wade could be quite unpredictable at times, his moods ranging from overexcited to depressed — sometimes within the same night — but it was almost as if Wade’s emotions were easier to bear, as if within his manic behavior, a steady calm was thrumming away, putting Peter at ease. Peter sometimes thought Wade just had a way better grip on his emotions than he showed, that it was just a part of his act to pretend to be more emotional than he actually felt.

Wade blinked up at him, his blue eyes sparking with humor. “It’s amazing how fast you can be summoned with the promise of free food.”

“Insane metabolism,” Peter answered. He sat down on the edge, mirroring Wade’s pose, and pulled his mask up to rest on the bridge of his nose. While Wade had been open about the identity behind the mask of Deadpool after their third or fourth meeting about eight months ago, Peter had stuck to his habit of not letting anyone know who exactly was hiding underneath Spider-Man’s mask. Even though he got along great with Wade, he still remained careful, knowing that revealing his identity would eventually lead to having to disclose that he was an Empath — and a broken one at that.

He wasn’t quite ready for that yet.

Wade hadn’t been angry when Peter had told him he wanted to wait, though Peter’s Empathy had picked up on his disappointment. Lately, he’d been thinking more often about revealing his identity to Wade, though. They met up almost every evening, mostly having dinner, sometimes Wade accompanied Peter on patrol, though he preferred to watch whenever they encountered trouble, careful not to get involved. He’d said once that he wouldn’t want Spider-Man’s good reputation tarnished by being associated with him, but Peter had a feeling that there was another reason Wade didn’t want to disclose.

Peter didn’t know all too much about Wade or his vigilante persona Deadpool, really. Wade had told him once that he hadn’t always been playing by the law, that he was willing to go just a little bit further when he put away bad guys than Peter was, and judging by the amount of weapons he carried around and the way he felt while saying that, Peter believed him. He hadn’t felt regret, really, or guilt. All Peter had been able to pick up from him was grim determination and a hint of righteous satisfaction … or maybe even happiness. It had put him on edge a little, at the beginning, until Wade had told him he was willing to make a change.

That that was the reason he’d come to New York.

Peter had once tried to find anything on Deadpool on the internet, but apart from some blurry videos and a couple of tweets, he hadn’t uncovered anything solid.

“Makes me wonder what else I could get you to do for pizza.” Wade’s words were light, but the way his eyes lingered on Peter’s lips wasn’t.

The way his light-hearted happiness at seeing Peter turned just slightly heavier wasn’t.

Peter felt a flush heat his cheeks and scolded himself for it a moment later when Wade’s lips tugged up into a smirk. Wade had flirted with him from their very first meeting, when he’d approached Peter during patrol and offered him a burrito in exchange for a chat. It still threw Peter just a little bit every single time. Maybe because he’d never learned how to handle flirting in general. Maybe because Wade was the only person who had ever shown more than a platonic interest in him.

He averted his eyes and grabbed the topmost pizza box to keep is hands busy, hoping that Wade was unable to see his cheeks flush. “I won’t take off the mask. How often do I have to tell you that?”

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Wade’s smirk widening into a grin. “At least once more, Miss Swan, as always.”

Peter chuckled, glad when Wade grabbed the second pizza box, effectively dropping the topic.

“Anything good going on tonight?” Wade asked, digging into his pizza.

“Nothing special,” Peter answered. “Might be a quiet night.” He wiped some grease off his chin with the back of his hand.

“We could swing by Avengers Tower and draw on Iron Man’s windows,” Wade said.

Peter huffed a laugh. “He’d love that.”

“I’ve got some really inspired ideas,” Wade said.

Peter shook his head. “I bet you do.”

Wade grinned widely. “One featuring him and Captain America in a porny embrace.”

Peter chuckled. “His fiancée would love _that_.”

“You never know, she might,” Wade answered with a wink.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **The wonderful art in this story was created by violettavonviolet. Click on[the link](https://violettavonviolet.tumblr.com/post/642182508605292544/art-masterpost) to find the art post!**

Peter was woken by his phone beeping at him just when the sun was starting to creep into his apartment. He rubbed his eyes and grabbed it off the bedside table to check his messages.

**CAROL PEARCE**

_Our wi-fi is down again! :(_

Peter sighed and closed his eyes, yawning as he tried to shake off the last cobwebs of sleep. It was still early enough to stop by the homeless shelter before work and check on the wi-fi. He was usually able to resolve these issues quickly. Yawning, he sat up and brushed a hand through his hair. His suit was slung over the back of the couch, slightly crumpled, the white eyes of his mask staring at him from where he’d left it on the kitchen counter.

His phone beeped again.

**CAROL PEARCE**

_I may have touched the router._

_I know I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry I failed you._

Peter chuckled and stretched, tapping out an answer while he headed for the shower. _Buy me breakfast?_

**CAROL PEARCE**

_Always. :)_

***

This early in the morning, Peter could still get away with wearing a hoodie. The air hadn’t warmed up yet and the people on the subway at this time of day were too dazed from a night shift or from getting up so early to really pay attention to someone who wore gloves and a hood in summer. Peter had slung his messenger bag with the _Stark Industries_ laptop over his shoulder when he’d left the apartment and underneath the hoodie, he was already dressed for his internship, the barely pressed button-down hopefully not getting hopelessly wrinkled. He was glad he could get away with wearing jeans in the R&D lab, as long as they were decent looking. He’d always felt uncomfortable whenever he had to wear formal trousers.

The homeless shelter was located halfway between Peter’s apartment and Avengers Tower, so it was practically on the way.

Working at the shelter had been May’s passion project. She’d volunteered there for years, roping Peter in to help as a tech support of a kind. May had mainly been in charge of the Training & Placement Program in the shelter, which was a Stark Industries initiative rolled out to several homeless shelters in the city, providing housing, health checks, vocational training and a pool of companies in New York looking to recruit those who were trying to start over. The program had been the idea of several directors of homeless shelters in the city and, after they had failed to get funding from the city, Peter had organized a meeting with Tony Stark himself for them to pitch the idea. Being Spider-Man had its perks; being friends with Iron Man was one of them. Tony had been willing to write a check simply because Peter had told him it was a good program.

After May had died, Peter had taken over her post; at first to give Carol Pearce, who was the shelter’s director, the chance to find someone else to do it. But then he’d found that he liked it and it had the additional benefit of keeping him away from the hustle and bustle of the rest of the shelter while still doing his part.

The shelter was located in a simple two-story brownstone building, that was nestled between an office building and a church on Lexington Avenue. Peter pushed open the glass entrance door and waved at Jason, who was manning the reception desk. The double-doors leading to the crowded dining hall and the kitchen area was open, the smell of coffee and scrambled eggs hanging in the air. Peter turned towards the stairs located right next to the entrance door, intending to make his way up to Carol’s office immediately.

“Peter, wait!”

He turned around and saw Maggie heading towards him. She was dressed for work, wearing a pencil skirt and a short-sleeved blouse, her red hair tied into a neat ponytail. A wave of excitement and happiness hit him when she drew closer, though the bout of nervousness she also always seemed to feel near him was also there. Peter liked Maggie, but her emotions were extremely strong and his Empathy was always a little unsettled around her.

“Hey!” he said.

“Hi,” she answered, a flush high on her cheeks and her dark eyes sparkling as she held out an envelope.

Peter took it slowly and opened it, finding a purple invitation card within. He looked at her in surprise when he saw what it was for. “You’re having a —”

“Housewarming party,” she interrupted him, grinning brightly. Her excitement was strong enough to make him slightly nauseous and he took a step back to gain a bit of distance, forcing his lips into an answering smile.

“You found an apartment?”

“I found an apartment,” she answered and stepped closer and for a second, Peter thought that she would try and hug him. His instinct kicked in and he flinched back and out of reach, hissing as if he’d been burned. Maggie froze, biting her lip, her smile dropping. “Oh my God, sorry, I … sorry.” Concern and regret replaced her excitement, her happiness dimmed, and Peter felt bad.

“It’s fine,” he said quickly. “Just … not great with physical contact.”

“Oh …,” she said. “Okay. Uh …”

There was a tense silence for a moment, then Peter looked down at the invitation. “That’s great, though. I’m happy for you.”

Maggie blushed. Her nervousness increased ten-fold and Peter frowned, not quite sure what she was nervous about. She grinned at him. “Well … _you_ were the one who got me that assistant job, so … you get part of the credit.”

Maggie had come to the shelter about a year ago and had joined the Training & Placement Program soon after, managing to get her high school diploma in record time. Peter had found her an assistant job in a small law firm and Maggie had been doing well from day one. So well in fact that the law firm had sent an e-mail last week asking whether the shelter would have someone available for their mail room.

“So, can you come?” Maggie asked, looking at Peter expectantly.

Peter swallowed, averting his eyes to the invitation in his hand. The thought of a party made his stomach and chest clench uncomfortably. He’d tried attending parties while he’d been in college and even the more sedate ones had been too much for his Empathy, the crowd and emotions – often heightened by alcohol – overwhelming and suffocating. And then there was the risk of accidental physical contact … he shook his head. “Uh … sorry, I think I’m busy.”

Maggie’s smile dropped in disappointment. “Oh.”

“I could,” Peter quickly said, “come by another time, though, to check the place out.”

That brought a small smile to her lips. “I could cook,” she said.

“Uh … okay.”

“Cool,” Maggie said. “I’ll get back to you with a date.” She grinned at him for a moment longer, then she turned and hurried away.

A chuckle behind him made him turn and look up at Carol, who was standing at the top of the stairs. Carol was a resolute-looking woman who were her greying hair short and preferred sneakers over every other kind of shoe. “You know what just happened there, right?”

Peter frowned in confusion.

Carol huffed a laugh and winked at him. “Invite me to the wedding, won’t you?”

Peter’s eyes widened as he understood what she meant. “What? No, that’s not … is it?”

Carol just motioned for him to follow her. “Come fix our wi-fi and maybe I’ll tell you.”

***

The pamphlet was perched against the screen of Peter’s computer when he arrived.

The pamphlet was from a company called E-Motion, a young woman and man pictured on the cover, who were walking arm in arm in a park and smiling happily. In neon purple, the words _Join Us For a Bright Future_ were stamped across the cover, in smaller letters followed by _The Number One Job Agency for Empaths - over 1,000 jobs available in New York right now!_

He stared at it for a moment with his jaw clenched and then glanced towards the other two interns that were currently present in the lab. Out of the five workstations set up, four were in use at the moment. Anne and Craig were standing staring at Craig’s computer screen, Anne playing with a strand of her dark hair while Craig seemed to be looking for some pointers from her, explaining the report he was working on. They didn’t pay Peter any mind and Peter knew that neither of them was responsible for this.

He heard a snicker and turned around to Patrick, who entered the room with a packed sandwich and a mug of coffee. “Thought you might want some options,” he said as he passed Peter, winking at him. He wasn’t happy or teasing, though. All Peter felt from him was bitterness and jealousy.

Peter’s fingers clenched around the pamphlet. He hated that everyone was aware he was an Empath, that companies were required to list Empath employees for everyone to see. Patrick had had an issue with Peter from the start. Not because he was an Empath — not solely and not primarily at least. He had an issue with Peter because Peter knew Tony Stark, a secret that he hadn’t been able to keep because Tony had come down on Peter’s first day, officially congratulating him for making it into the pool of interns who worked for whoever in R&D needed a helping hand with research … or, in the worst case, some copies done or reports filed. 

Peter knew of course that being on a friendly basis with the owner of a multi billion-dollar company could have its advantages, sure. Especially for someone like him, who struggled with money on a constant basis even _with_ the internship’s salary, having inherited some of Aunt May’s debts. But Tony didn’t know all that; or at least Peter hoped he didn’t.

They’d met a few years ago, when Peter had still been in college, and Tony had tracked him down as the guy behind Spider-Man’s mask. They’d bonded over their shared experiences as vigilantes, even though Tony was of course way more than just that. He was Iron Man, not just an Avenger but one of the founding members. Peter valued the advice Tony tended to give uninvited, taking some of it to heart while dismissing other parts.

By now, they had bonded over more than their alter egos, their common interest in science and engineering helping to form something akin to a friendship.

However, despite their connection, Peter hadn’t told Tony that he’d applied for this job, not wanting him to meddle; Peter knew him well enough to know that Tony would have done that in heartbeat, because he meant well and tended to overshoot. Tony had found out only after Peter had signed the contract … and he’d seemed slightly miffed, really, maybe a bit insulted. Nothing that an evening of tinkering in Tony’s workshop hadn’t been able to fix, though.

But Patrick didn’t know all that. He just knew that Peter and Tony knew each other and he seemed to think that meant Peter didn’t deserve his position.

Peter swallowed, carefully relaxing his grip on the pamphlet. “Thanks,” he said tightly and set it aside. “I’m fine.”

Patrick’s dark eyes narrowed, but he smirked and went to log into his computer.

Peter dropped the pamphlet into his trash bin and shrugged out of his hoodie and into his lab coat. The animosity Patrick felt for him was palpable, creeping up Peter’s spine and settling into the back of his neck uncomfortably. It was a strain on him, something he’d never admit out loud. He’d thought about quitting several times, just because Patrick’s negative emotions towards him were so strong that Peter had trouble being in one room with him for several hours at a time, but he had always reconsidered. _Stark Industries_ was one of the few companies even _offering_ traditionally non-Empath positions to Empaths and Peter had managed to get into a highly coveted internship program that could very well lead to a job at the company for life. Which meant resources and being able to make decisions on what he wanted to work on.

It was worth one more year of Patrick’s snide glances and remarks, one more year of keeping his feet still and doing what he was told, writing reports and preparing presentations that others would get the credit for until somebody thought that he should climb higher in the foodchain.

It didn’t matter.

He logged into his computer and put on his headphones, his playlist starting to blare into his ears and distracting him at least a little from Patrick’s loathing.

It was going to be a good day.

***

When Peter changed into his suit in his apartment the same evening, his phone beeped with a message. He smiled, having already waited for it. Wade and him met up for dinner almost every night. He grabbed his phone of the kitchen counter.

**DP (WADE)**

_Mexican or Thai?_

Peter shrugged his suit on the rest of the way before typing out a response, _Mexican, but let me buy. It’s my turn._

There was a prolonged silence.

**DP (WADE)**

_Fine. Meet you in half an hour._

_On my way._ Peter tucked the phone along with a bit of cash into the hidden pouch by his hip, put on the mask, and left his apartment through the window, ensuring that nobody saw him leave as he shot the first web. He arrived at his favorite Mexican take-out place a short while after and didn’t have to wait long for his order to be filled, since the owner was a fan of Spider-Man. She would give Peter the food for free, if he didn’t insist to pay every single time.

With the food safely wrapped up in a plastic bag, Peter used only one hand to swing through the busy streets towards their meeting point, which made his usually perfect arcs a little wonky. It wasn’t easy to coordinate swinging with not dropping the food while still trying to at least look half-decently cool in case someone shot a video.

Maybe that was the reason he almost didn’t notice.

He was nearly at his meeting place with Wade — practically able to see the rooftop — when his spidey sense started to thrum gently, warning him of _something_ and Peter quickly interrupted his journey to land on a roof, falling into a defensive position out of habit. He looked around the surrounding area, quickly checking each rooftop, the street below, even the sky above … but he didn’t see anything out of the ordinary.

His spidey sense continued flicker, though it was weakening.

He bit his lip and looked around once more, trying to make sure. His spidey sense calmed down entirely, though, the threat dispersing. Peter was left feeling uncertain and exposed, clutching a bag of food on a random rooftop in Turtle Bay.

On the street below, a firetruck passed with yowling sirens, followed by several more.

Peter stepped up to the edge and tracked their route with his eyes, noticing a thick plume of smoke a few blocks down.

Discarding the food, he jumped off the rooftop and followed closely behind the firetrucks, overtaking them as they had to slow down and even stop due to some unthoughtful drivers not making way.

He arrived at the scene just a minute later and attached himself to the façade of an office building, just across the street from the fire. The burning building was a brownstone, thirteen floors high, and appeared to be an apartment complex. He saw the firefighters setting up their equipment, some of them getting ready to enter the burning building. If they were doing that, he concluded, somebody was still in there. Onlookers started to call his name, phones raised trying to capture a picture of him. Peter didn’t pay them any mind, instead checking the windows on the burning building, until he noticed one without flames licking out of it on the fifth floor.

He pushed off the wall and made it to the window with just one swing, jumping through it with a swift move, ignoring the shards of glass as he landed inside a living room filled with smoke. His mask provided him a little protection but Peter knew that it wouldn’t last very long, so he checked the apartment quickly, calling out to catch the attention of anyone who might still be trapped inside. Nobody was here, though, so Peter headed for the door. He could hear the firefighters shouting at each other a couple of floors below and the sound of an axe breaking through a door, the distant screams of what seemed to be two women.

A cough was rattling in his chest, the air getting too heavy to breathe.

He had to hurry.

He touched the doorknob and hissed in pain when the heat bit into his hand. He kicked the door in instead, quickly stepping out of the way as flames ate their way into the apartment. He ducked underneath them and entered the hallway, heading for the apartment next door. The flames were already eating their way towards its door, getting dangerously closed when Peter kicked it in. He was caught by a sudden wave of dizziness, stumbling to the side.

A sharp, burning pain ate into his hand as it got too close to the flames, the glove of his suit starting to melt under the heat. Peter quickly stepped inside the apartment, coughing and stumbling through the smoke.

“Hello?!” he called out. “Anybody here?”

He heard a scream and turned around, seeing a woman opening the bathroom door, a kid around five clutched to her chest. She had wrapped a wet towel over her mouth and nose and was pressing a wet washcloth to the kid’s face. She seemed surprised to see him, probably had expected him to be a firefighter, but she quickly came towards him anyway with a relieved sob.

“It’s okay,” Peter said. “You’re okay.”

He ushered her towards the nearest window and pushed her behind his back as he broke it, using his burned hand to still have one good hand available for their escape. Swiftly, he took the kid from her arms and settled him on his hip and then instructed the woman to hold onto him, putting an arm around her waist. She screamed when he jumped out the window, but he used his good hand to shoot a web and break their fall, lowering them carefully to the street below. He didn’t wait for her sobbed words of thanks to end, just handed her kid to her and then climbed the outside wall of the house, still coughing, trying to hear any cries for help from within … but there was nothing.

He saw the firefighters leave the house and one of them waved up at him. “Everyone’s out!”

Peter nodded, raising a hand in a vague gesture of goodbye and jumped to swing away. The pain in his hand climbed to almost unbearable levels when he accidentally used it to hold onto his web and he made quick work of finding a half-way secluded rooftop, crouching by an AC unit. He pulled his mask up to rest on the bridge of his noise, gulping in fresh air and coughing raggedly.

He looked down at his hand, noticing that the glove had melted a little, sticking to the burnt skin underneath. He hissed a breath of pain as he tugged at it carefully, tears climbing into his eyes. He had to take the glove off, though, the residual heat in the material and the melting material causing his wounds to be even more painful. Besides, he was worried the burns would start to heal with the suit material still melted to them and cause only more pain down the line.

He gritted his teeth and carefully started to pry it off.

“Spidey!” he heard someone call and jumped, then turned around to see Wade running towards him. “Shit,” he said, quickly coming to a stop next to him and staring at his burnt hand. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Peter muttered, a cough hacking out of his throat belying that statement immediately.

“You’ve got burns,” Wade said, his voice strangely solemn. He crouched down by Peter’s side and reached for his hand. “They look bad.”

“Don’t,” Peter said, pulling his hand back a little, the thought of the rough material of Wade’s suit touching even near his burns making him cringe. He focused on removing his glove, slowly peeling the material away.

“Okay, okay,” Wade said quietly. He rummaged around his pouches and got a tiny container with water and a gauze swap wrapped in plastic out. He took off his gloves. “It’s not ideal,” he said, unpacking the gauze and soaking it with water.

Peter was distracted by the singing pain when he finally got the rest of his glove off, so he didn’t notice Wade reaching for him again until it was too late. It was the last thing Peter saw before Wade’s skin touched his.

Suddenly, all he felt was _pain_ — writhing underneath his skin, burning through his veins, followed by numbness, by a relief so strong he slumped to the side. It was a cacophony of agony and relief, starting, stopping, pulling him in and not letting him go. Then an undercurrent of rage hit him, pulling him under into a sinkhole of self-hatred and an urge to just _end it all_.

End it **_now_**.

End it **forever**.

“Spidey, what the hell?”

The voice sounded from far away and there was a rush of concern and …

“Spidey.”

… fondness …

“Shit, tell me what’s wrong.”

… determination …

“What’d I do?”

… so much despair and guilt and …

“Just calm down, calm down, like me … just calm …”

Everything went white and there were no feelings anymore … and for a moment, no air.

He gasped and it felt like his consciousness was slamming back into his body, the hard surface of the rooftop digging into his shoulderblades and the back of his head, his hand burning …

“That’s it. Just breathe, it’s okay.”

… and there was affection, gentle and slow, and his heartrate calmed, his breathing slowed …

“You’re doing good, baby boy.”

He opened his eyes and found Wade’s unmasked face hovering close.

Peter stared at him.

The smell of smoke hung in the air. Cars honked. An airplane passed.

Peter was lying on the rooftop, the setting sun throwing an orange hue over everything.

He felt a soft breeze against his jaw and remembered that his mask was sitting on the bridge of his nose.

And moving over his cheek was … he flinched out of instinct as Wade’s thumb brushed over his skin, as he could feel Wade’s scars against his cheek, and he pushed Wade back abruptly, crawling several steps away to bring distance between them and turning his back on him. He tried to pull his mask down and gasped at the pain in his hand, looking at the reddened skin, the bloody blisters prominent. He used his other, uninjured hand to pull his mask down, shielding himself.

“Spidey?” Wade said.

Peter’s Empathy felt raw, like a nerve that had been exposed, Wade’s confusion hitting him stronger than it usually would. He was dizzy. “You touched me,” he murmured.

Something like shame and grief settled between them, pressing tears into Peter’s eyes, then Wade said, “I’m sorry.” There was a pause. “You were having a panic attack or something, I just wanted to …” He trailed off.

Peter looked down at his burnt hand, at the place Wade’s skin had first touched his, the reason for his break-down. “You touched me,” he whispered then, the feeling of Wade’s thumb against his cheek lingering, the memory of being wrapped up in cotton and suddenly feeling so numb and … peaceful.

Wade’s thumb brushing his cheek and Peter able to bear the contact.

He stumbled to his feet, turning around to Wade, who was standing a few feet away, staring at him with sad eyes. “How …” Peter choked on the question. “How did you …” Wade’s concern, confusion and sadness was all-encompassing, causing Peter to flinch away, to tremble. He had to get out. He was too confused himself to deal with Wade’s emotions.

_Wade’s thumb brushing his cheek … and Peter able to bear it_. For the first time in over a year, he’d been able to bear another person’s touch. It didn’t make any sense.

He ducked his head and turned away, moving towards the edge of the roof.

“Baby boy?” Wade asked.

Peter stopped.

“Are you okay?”

Peter didn’t look at him, just readied the web-shooter on his good hand. “Yes,” he said. “I am.”

With that, he swung off.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **The wonderful art in this story was created by violettavonviolet. Click on[the link](https://violettavonviolet.tumblr.com/post/642182508605292544/art-masterpost) to find the art post!**

Peter finished bandaging his hand, the burn cream a cool relief against his skin underneath the gauze. He knew that due to his healing factor, the burns would already be much better in the morning, but the cream helped to reduce the pain nonetheless.

He fiddled with the bandage a little more while he left the bathroom and made his way over to the kitchenette, where the water on the stove had started to boil. He added the macaroni before taking a bite of the sandwich he’d thrown together. His appetite was always ravenous post-patrol, the sandwich only tiding him over until the pasta would be done. But it felt just a little bit worse tonight, his senses on edge. The lights were a little brighter, the smells a little stronger, the noises a little louder.

He had still felt a little shaky by the time he’d crawled through his window half an hour ago, his Empathy obviously still disturbed by what had happened. But it also felt different than the other few times he’d accidentally made skin contact with someone else. It had happened more when he’d been younger and his Empathy had just broken; the maelstrom of emotions the other person felt, no matter how prominent, pulling him under and causing ‘empathic episodes’, as the doctors called it; his Empathy was no longer able to regulate the input of emotions he was bombarded with all day and skin contact added a whole new level of intensity. But Peter’s Empathy wasn’t able anymore to regulate that input, to recognize those feelings as someone else’s. As a result, to protect itself from the onslaught, Peter’s body just switched off, falling unconscious for a couple of days.

He remembered how one of them had sat him and May down after the sixth time Peter had been admitted to the hospital and told them that Peter should try and avoid putting this kind of stress on his body. As if the way May’s face paled whenever the bills for Peter’s care wasn’t enough to make him try. He got better over time, learned to huddle into his clothes, into corners and against walls, taking the middle seats in lecture halls because nobody would brush by him to go to the bathroom, and keep an eye on people within touching distance at all times. It had been tiring and stressful at first, but he’d learned and by now, it was second nature.

He’d thought that Wade touching him would cause him to have an episode, had almost resigned himself to it by the time it was too late to move away, but then …

His phone beeped a new message at him and he checked it to see it was from Wade. He turned his phone face-down on the counter before he could read its content, not sure he wanted to.

… but then something had happened. Something that reminded him of he’d slowly learned to tolerate May’s touch and then Gwen and Harry’s. But that had been because he knew them so well, only because he’d learned how their emotional input felt _before_ his Empathy broke, only because they knew not to initiate contact when they were emotionally unstable.

With everyone else, it was different.

With _Wade_ , it should have been different.

When he’d initially touched him, Peter had felt his body starting to shut down. But then Wade’s emotions had become so much softer, muted, calm, like back when Peter still could control the input he got from others. Peter had still _felt_ Wade’s emotions but he hadn’t been overwhelmed by them.

His phone beeped again. Slowly, Peter picked it up and opened his messages.

**DP (WADE)**

_Let me know that you got home ok._

_I shouldn’t have moved your mask but you weren’t breathing right._

_I don’t know what happened but I’m sorry if it’s something I did._

_Just tell me you’re ok._

Peter felt guilty for ignoring him. He knew that what had happened must have been scary for someone who didn’t know about his condition.

And he’d left without explaining, either.

He’d left making Wade feel as if he’d done something wrong.

Peter swallowed and tapped out an answer. _I’m ok._ He sent the message and quickly followed up with, _It wasn’t your fault_.

**DP (WADE)**

_So I don’t need to punch myself?_

That brought a small smile on Peter’s face. _No._ He put the phone down to stir the pasta, noticing that it was almost done. His phone beeped with another message.

**DP (WADE)**

_Good. Sweet dreams, baby boy._

His heart did a weird little jump, a warm weight settling in his belly. It wasn’t the first time Peter had felt like that around or because of Wade. And Wade wasn’t his first crush. There was something about him; his humor, the way he’d learned Peter’s favorite dishes in record time, having dinner on rooftops and sending text messages like these. Peter wasn’t bothered by the scars that covered Wade’s skin or by the way he sometimes talked to himself. Wade was one of the few friends he had … maybe the only friend, to be honest. Well, aside from Mr. Stark, who was more of a mentor than a friend, really.

However, Peter shook his head, dismissing the thought. It didn’t make any sense to even think about it. Peter couldn’t touch anyone, so relationships were out of the question, no matter how much he longed for one. It was probably better, anyway, considering Spider-Man was bound to bring trouble into a relationship.

Still, Peter stared at that last message for a long time with a soft smile, though he didn’t answer.

***

Peter spent lunchbreak in the lab, as usual. Since everyone else was out to get something to eat, it gave him the chance to be alone and that hour on his own always did wonders to recharge him for the afternoon.

It also gave him the chance to do some research on what had happened the night before while nibbing on a sandwich he got from one of the vending machines. He was looking through a list of search results and sighed. There were too many, which was probably caused by him not being able to properly describe what he was looking for. The only thing he had found that sounded remotely like his experience with Wade was a paper on a second type of Empathy, which the researchers named Anchor-Empathy. The research was thorough and a result of them interviewing Empaths and their partners all over the world, proving that almost all of the Empaths they interviewed described that the presence of their partner had a calming effect on their Empathy, even in stressful or highly-emotional surroundings. The paper had received numerous reviews, most of them highly skeptical, others downright scathing.

_“This has nothing to do with Empathy,”_ one reviewer had written, _“it’s simply love.”_

Peter still e-mailed the link to himself to bookmark it on his private laptop. He also quickly logged into JARVIS’s search interface, knowing that Tony’s AI was way more advanced than a run-of-the-mill search engine and would probably be able to provide more interesting results. He linked the research paper for JARVIS to cross-reference and then closed the interface again, knowing it would take a while for JARVIS to compile results.

“Parker.”

He jumped, almost knocking over his cup of coffee, and looked up Dr. Frazier who was frowning at him from the door. He was a tall man in his late forties who always exuded confidence and a rational calm that was easy on Peter’s Empathy. He led a team of ten researchers one floor up and he always had the most interesting reports and presentations for Peter to write up and double-check, though he didn’t tend to make use of the intern pool very often, preferring his team to do their own paperwork.

Now, his green eyes were narrowed disapprovingly as he approached Peter’s workstation. “I needed that report on the lab results an hour ago.”

Peter checked the clock and winced, rifling through the papers on his desk and finding the prepared report shoved under his keyboard. “Got it,” he said, holding the file out. “Sorry, I was going to bring it by and then … forgot.”

Frazier leafed through it quickly, and then looked at Peter. “I saw that you proof-read my presentation to the board yesterday.”

Peter was caught off-guard by the change in topic, but he nodded. “Yes.”

“You handed it in 15 minutes late.”

Peter swallowed, wincing as he remembered he got distracted by an idea for his web-shooters. “I’m sorry, Dr. Frazier.”

The man hummed thoughtfully. “I saw that you corrected the formula on slide 11.”

Peter nodded. “Yeah, I … there was a typo.”

“Was there?” Frazier asked, his lips tugging into a smirk, light amusement sparking up. He looked at Peter for a long moment, almost appraisingly, then he cleared his throat. “There is an internship position on my team that becomes available in a couple of months. Are you interested?”

Peter stared at him in surprise, his heart skipping a beat. Getting on Frazier’s team was the best any intern could get, really. He was one of the stars of _Stark Industries_ , a personal friend to Tony himself … a ball of dread formed in Peter’s stomach.

Tony wouldn’t, would he?

“Parker?”

He startled. “Yeah, sorry. What … what would …”

“You’d be moved out of the intern pool and work only for my team. You won’t get paid more but one of my guys is going to retire at the end of the year, so there’s a permanent position which will become available.”

Peter opened his mouth to answer, but he didn’t know what to say, caught by surprise.

“You’d have to apply officially, of course,” Frazier said, pointing the report at him, “but I don’t think that will be an issue for you.”

“Why me?” Peter finally blurted out, only realizing one second later that the question might possibly come across as rude.

Frazier looked at him and nodded. “Listen, if it were up to Tony, I would have offered you that position on your third day here, but I don’t do that kind of favors.”

Something like relief settled over Peter.

Frazier shrugged. “It’s because you always hand in top-notch work, because Dr. Reid tells me that you’re a good worker … and because I gave that presentation to everyone in this room and you were the only one who found the typo.” He tilted his head. “Interested?”

“Yes,” Peter said quickly. “Of course.”

“Great,” Frazier answered. “I’ll get the ball rolling with HR.” He smirked in amusement. “And you work on your punctuality.”

Peter blushed and ducked his head. “Yes, sorry.”

Frazier nodded and turned to leave.

“Dr. Frazier?” Peter said and he stopped to turn back around. “Did you leave that typo in there intentionally?”

Frazier grinned. “Now, why would I do that?” he answered and left.

***

Wade’s message came when Peter was perched on Queensboro Bridge in the light of the setting sun and considering his patrol route for the night while watching the traffic roll by below. It was a burrito emoji followed by a question mark. Peter huffed a laugh and sent a thumbs-up back.

While he made his way to their usual rooftop, his stomach started to knot with nerves. He didn’t know whether Wade would ask him about what happened or whether he even _wanted_ to talk about it with him. He still hadn’t figured out what was going on himself, wasn’t sure whether he wanted to discuss it with anyone. On the other hand, he wasn’t sure whether he _didn’t_ want to talk to Wade about it. Wade was the first person since May, Gwen and Harry who had been able to touch him. Maybe, he thought, Wade would have some insight into what had happened.

There was at least a slim chance.

Wade was waiting for him with a plastic bag filled to the brim with burritos. Peter’s stomach growled at the very sight. “Hey,” he said, looking at Wade, carefully trying to gauge his mood. Wade was still wearing his mask, the white lenses and the thick material of the red-and-black mask making it impossible to identify his expression. However, Peter’s Empathy picked up on the usual level of manic energy, as well as contentment and only a sliver of nervousness.

“Hey,” Wade answered. He removed his mask, his brown eyes narrowing as he took Peter in. “Are you okay?”

Peter nodded quickly. “I’m fine.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

Wade looked at the bag. “I got your favorite.”

Peter pulled his mask up to rest on the bridge of his nose to show Wade a smile. “I’m starving.”

“You always are,” Wade answered, settling to sit on the edge of the roof, his feet dangling over the traffic twenty-eight storys below them. He unclasped his two katanas from his back and set them down on the roof, rolling his shoulders as if to get comfortable. “Makes me think you don’t get enough food.”

Peter sat down next to him and grabbed a burrito at random, unwrapping it to breathe in the smell. “I was kind of busy today, didn’t really have lunch.” Something like concern rolled off Wade and Peter shrugged. “It’s fine,” he said quickly. “I get like that sometimes.”

“Somebody needs to remind you then.”

Peter swallowed and looked down at his burrito while he answered, “Nobody there to do so.”

Wade gasped, raising both hands over his mouth in an overly-dramatic gesture of shock. “Though I do admit it’s my favorite headcanon … you cannot possibly be single. Who wouldn’t want to tap _that_?” He sneaked a look at Peter’s butt.

Peter huffed a laugh. “Charming.”

Wade shrugged. “It’s the truth.”

“Yeah, well, my … real me,” he said, “is not exactly …” He paused, picking at his burrito. “I’m a bit of a mess,” he finally admitted with a grin that tried to be humorous, but obviously fell short, if the way Wade’s eyes narrowed was any indication.

“What, compared to me?” he asked, gesturing at his scarred face.

Peter didn’t answer, looking out at the city instead. “Damage can be internal,” he finally said.

“Yeah, got plenty of that as well,” Wade answered. He took out a burrito for himself, unwrapping it slowly. It was quiet for a long moment, then Wade asked, “You’re an Empath, aren’t you?”

Peter looked at him in surprise.

“I did a bit of googling,” Wade said with a shrug. “Wasn’t difficult to figure out. Seems we exchanged our emotions for a couple of minutes.” He winked at him, a sly grin on his lips. “It’s supposed to be more intimate than sex, which _apparently_ is a whole other amazing thing on its own with an Empath.” Something in Wade’s emotional projection changed, a feeling bleeding in that was deeper and more urgent than the friendship he’d felt up until now and yet, it wasn’t new. Arousal had always been part of Wade’s emotional fingerprint, but it had always been more of an afterthought, just like his incessant flirting was. This was more intense, more focused. He sighed mournfully. “Looking at the rating of this thing, I don’t think any of _that_ will be happening, though.”

Peter ignored the last part, used to Wade’s sometimes questionable humor and weird references that didn’t make sense. He was too occupied with the thoughts Wade’s words put in his head … it made Peter blush. “You did research into that?” He cleared his throat when he realized that his voice sounded a little strangled.

Wade looked at him a smirk forming on his lips. “Yeah, quite a bit.” He shuffled a little closer, leaning in, his eyes going down to Peter’s lips. Peter felt his own eyes doing the same, dipping down to Wade’s lips and back up to lock onto his eyes. The air between them grew heavy, Peter’s heartbeat quickening.

But when Wade leaned in further, Peter jerked back and moved out of reach, rolling to his feet immediately. “What are you doing?” he asked, alarmed.

“I thought that was pretty obvious,” Wade answered, frowning.

Peter stared at him. “I had an episode yesterday. Why would you want to trigger another one?”

Wade seemed taken aback. “What? That was … I thought the fire freaked you out or something.”

“No, it was because you touched me!”

Peter was standing a few feet away from Wade but even from this distance, he could feel the utter disappointment and devastation rolling off him at his words, his face falling and his shoulders slumping. “Oh.”

Peter realized what Wade must be thinking and stepped closer. “No, no, no, not because it’s _you_ —”

“It’s no biggie, Spidey, you don’t have to spare my feelings or something.”

“But it’s true!” Peter said.

Wade looked at him, exasperated. “Okay, so I don’t get what’s going on here. Because I just felt a _moment_ right there and don’t say you didn’t. Your eyes did the seesaw.”

Peter frowned in confusion. “The seesaw?”

“Going to my lips and back to my eyes. It means ‘Kiss me’.”

Peter gaped. “Since _when_?”

“Since _she_ decided it was a good euphemism.”

“ _Who_?”

Wade pulled a face. “ _She_ knows who I mean. I knew the it _sucked_.” He took a deep breath. “I’m gonna pay for that later.”

“Wade,” Peter snapped. “Focus.”

“Your eyes did the …” Wade pulled a disgusted face. “… seesaw,” he spat, “so I leaned in.” He looked at Peter, his expression softening. “If I read those signals wrong, I’m sorry. I’m big on consent.” He turned away. “I … messed up, I’m really sor-”

“Maybe,” Peter said before he could think too much about it.

He swallowed when Wade turned back around to him, his eyebrows raised in surprise. “What?”

“Maybe I am,” Peter said. “Interested.” He took a breath. “It just …” He swallowed. “My Empathy. It’s … broken.”

Wade stared at him in confusion. “What?”

“My Empathy’s broken,” Peter repeated. “It has been for a long time.”

Wade looked confused and Peter heaved a breath.

“I can live with it. It’s just … everything is more intense, I feel everyone’s emotions much stronger like … I can’t regulate the input like Empaths usually can to not get overwhelmed. So being around people is really draining, but I can live with it. My Touch-Empathy, though …” He hesitated. “I can’t … touch people. It’s too much for my system. I just … switch off …”

Wade’s eyes widened, probably realizing what had happened the last time they’d seen each other.

“And it usually takes me a couple of days to recover.”

Wade’s eyes narrowed. “Usually.”

“Usually.” Peter took a breath. “I don’t know what happened last night. I don’t … I tried to find an explanation. It has never happened to me before. The only people I have been able to touch since my Empathy broke were people that I knew very closely before it happened. And even that was different than what happened last night.” He swallowed. “It was almost as if … _you_ were the one to regulate the input.”

“I’m not an Empath.”

“I can’t explain it,” Peter said. “I read something about … Anchor-Empathy which seems to have to do with … emotional compatibility.”

“What, like soulmates?” Wade was offended and skeptical at the same time, a slight feeling of hesitancy also remaining. Maybe he wasn’t sure whether he should believe Peter.

“I know it sounds ridiculous,” Peter answered.

It was quiet for a long moment. Peter looked down at the busy street below.

Finally, Wade asked, “So … you haven’t touched other people since …”

“A year? Almost.”

There was the pity he’d been expecting, “And you haven’t touched anybody but your friends since …”

“My Empathy broke when I was fourteen,” Peter said. “I’m twenty-three.”

Wade stared at the roof. The pity was joined by sadness.

“You okay?” Peter asked.

“Just … working through the implications,” Wade answered.

Peter nodded slowly, a blush working its way onto his cheeks. “I’ve never kissed anyone.”

“Good thing you stopped me then,” Wade said. He gestured at his face. “Not great for a first kiss.”

“I don’t care about that, Wade.”

The silence between them stretched for a long time.

“Listen,” Peter said finally. “I’m just trying to figure out what’s going on. This is new for me. I was pretty much convinced that I’m stuck on my own with this … condition and now I suddenly can … there’s a chance I could fight it.” He stepped closer to him, finding his resolve. “And I think you can help me.”

Wade raised an eyebrow. “How?”

Peter took off his glove and reached out a hand.

Wade stared at it, his expression torn. “I don’t know, baby boy, it’s not exactly like I know how to control this thing. If I even _have_ it.”

“You have it,” Peter said. “You did it once and you weren’t even thinking about it, were you?”

Wade sighed. “Yeah, but —”

“Wade,” Peter said and took a step closer. “Please, just …” He swallowed. “If this goes wrong, I will never mention it again.”

“What if you die?”

A huff of laughter escaped him. “I won’t die. It’s not deadly.”

Wade sighed deeply and rolled his eyes, taking off one of his gloves and reaching out a hand as well. Peter tried to take it but Wade pulled back. “Just as a disclaimer: not sure what you’re gonna feel from my side but this whole mask on the bridge of your nose thing is kind of turning me on.” He grimaced. “Well … all of you kind of is.”

Peter had no answer to that. “Uh …”

“Always has,” Wade said. “Just wanted to get that out there.”

“Thanks,” Peter said hesitantly. He turned his hand palm-down and waited for Wade to hover his own just underneath.

“The burrito also made me a little gassy,” Wade muttered.

“Gassy is not an emotion, Wade,” Peter answered and moved his hand down. The moment they touched, his knees buckled and hit the roof hard.

“Shit,” he heard Wade say and he felt him trying to pull his hand back but Peter tightened his hold and shook his head.

It was a lot.

Wade’s emotions were a confusing mix of concern, self-loathing, affection and yes, arousal, overpowering and tearing at him like a riptide trying to drag him away from land … but strangely, he felt less overwhelmed than the last time. A hand settled on the back of his neck, supporting him when he felt like he would crumble at any moment and then … it got better.

Calm crept in, soothing over the mayhem and muting it slowly, making it bearable like it used to be when Peter was little. He gasped, taking a real, controlled breath, his fingers still tight around Wade’s, the riptide weakening. He raised his head to look at Wade, seeing him frown in confusion.

“Spidey?”

“You’re doing it,” he gasped. “Wade, you’re …”

“I’m not doing anything,” he answered. A wave of concern rolled off him, hitting Peter … and fizzling out into a less overwhelming version of it, just barely glancing him.

Peter swallowed. “Oh my God,” he whispered, sliding his hand up to grasp Wade’s wrist. He felt a tear roll down his cheek.

“Spidey,” Wade said, his sadness tangible, but not painful, not overwhelming … just _there_.

Peter shook his head and leaned forward, pulling Wade into a hug as he released his grip on his hand. He let out a shuddering breath, his arms tight around Wade’s shoulders, the tears in his eyes blurring his vision and getting caught in the mask, the skin of Wade’s cheek warm against his. One of Wade’s arms wrapped around him, pulling him closer, his other hand still resting on the back of Peter’s neck.

“Are you okay?” Wade asked.

Peter released a breath and nodded. “Yeah. Just give me a minute.” He couldn’t find it in him to be embarrassed, as much as he knew he should be. Instead, he basked in the feeling of friendship and care that surrounded him like a blanket, strengthening his hold to try and chase away the self-loathing that seemed to be constantly surrounding Wade, sorting through all the minor emotions like he used to when his Empathy was still a part of him.

When it had been his friend instead of his enemy.

He noticed something stronger than friendship lurking underneath the plethora of emotions, something deeper and more meaningful … and most of all private. He tried to ignore it, focusing on the happiness that steadily grew inside Wade instead.

“Are you okay?” Wade asked again, softer this time.

Peter huffed a laugh. “I’m okay,” he answered. “Thank you so much.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **The wonderful art in this story was created by violettavonviolet. Click on[the link](https://violettavonviolet.tumblr.com/post/642182508605292544/art-masterpost) to find the art post!**

Peter swiped his access badge in the lobby of Avengers Tower and, not feeling in the mood to take the stairs twenty-seven floors up, managed to snag an elevator that was almost empty, making it easy for him to avoid getting too close to the other three occupants.

The two suited guys standing together going over a report were nervous and since they’d pressed the button for the executive meeting area on floor seventy-one, Peter guessed they were either headed for a presentation or to explain some sort of issue.

The woman staring at her phone was seething. It put Peter slightly on edge since he couldn’t shift far away from her in the enclosed space. When she got off on her floor, Peter breathed a sigh of relief.

Feeling his phone vibrate against his thigh, he dug it out of his jeans pocket and checked his messages.

**CAROL PEARCE**

_Have you heard from Maggie?_

He frowned and, instead of texting back, dialed her number as soon as he left the elevator. He paused in the corridor to wait for her to pick up.

_“Hi, Peter,”_ Carol said. She sounded tense.

“Hey,” he answered, frowning. “What’s going on?”

Carol sighed. _“Maggie asked me yesterday whether it would be okay for her to miss kitchen duty because she wanted to go out with some colleagues after work. I stayed until around nine and went to see her before I left but she wasn’t in her room, so I assumed she was still out. But just now, her boss called, telling me that she didn’t turn up for work and I checked her room and it looks like she didn’t come back last night.”_ She heaved a breath, as if trying to calm herself down. _“I thought … maybe you were in touch with her?”_

Peter shook his head. “No.” He got why Carol was worried and felt his concern rise as well. It was unlike Maggie to stay out all night.

_“Her boss said he’s going to ask around the office, find the colleagues she went out with and whether they have heard from her, but …”_ She swallowed, her voice lowering as if she didn’t want to be overheard. _“Peter, that’s not like her at all.”_

“Do you need me to come over?” Peter asked.

Carol sighed. _“No, I don’t think there’s anything you can do.”_ She paused and huffed a laugh that tried to be cheerful. _“Maybe it’ll turn out to be nothing. I don’t know, maybe she went home with a nice guy and is on her way to work right now.”_

Peter didn’t reply, knowing just as well as Carol did that, yes, the explanation _could_ be that simple. But if it wasn’t … he had a bad feeling about just not doing anything, his first instinct being to put on the suit and go looking for her.

But New York was a big city and he didn’t have enough information.

The office Maggie worked at was located in Harlem, but if she went out with colleagues, they could have headed anywhere. It was probably best wait until Maggie’s boss could shed some light about last night. “I’ll come by after work then,” he suggested.

Carol sounded relieved when she said, _“Yeah, that would be good.”_

“Let me know if you hear something.”

_“You, too.”_

Peter felt a lump in his stomach all the way to the lab. He knew Maggie well enough to know that she wouldn’t just disappear without informing anyone, that she wouldn’t just miss work on a whim. He entered the lab and muttered a greeting to Patrick, Craig and Anne as he moved to his desk. He was pulled from his thoughts when his supervisor Dr. Reid poked his head into the room from his office. “Peter,” he said, pushing his glasses up his nose. “You are to head up to floor seventy-three as soon as possible.”

Peter froze and he saw Patrick and the other interns pause as well. Everyone knew whose office was located on the 73rd floor.

Dr. Reid confirmed his thought just a moment later, “Mr. Stark wants to see you.”

***

Peter knew _not_ to go to the 73rd floor. Instead, he used the keycard Tony had given him a while ago to press the button for the 86th floor.

He could hear AC/DC blasting before the doors started to slide open, but the music was turned down automatically as he stepped out, a protocol that Tony had written to make things easier on those Avengers with more sensitive hearing. Tony’s workshop was brightly-lit by the rays of the sun hitting the large panorama windows as well as the lights installed in the high ceiling. Twelve workstations were scattered around the room, each of them serving one of the projects Tony had going on at the moment. Mostly, these projects were focused on Tony’s Iron Man suit or the gear of one of the other Avengers, but a few workstations also held _Stark Industries_ products in various stages of improvement. The walls were mostly reserved for whiteboards and shelving units holding Tony’s tools. One corner was dedicated to a small kitchenette that looked like it needed a visit from Tony’s maid.

Tony himself was standing at one of the workbenches by the windows, fiddling with something that looked like Black Widow’s taser bracelets. He had looked up briefly when Peter had entered. “Kid,” he said. “How long has it been? You don’t write, you don’t call. I see you less now than when you _weren’t_ working for me.”

Peter heaved a sigh and tucked his hands into his pockets, walking slowly towards him. “I’m _technically_ working for _Stark Industries_.”

“Which is _me_.”

“There are about thirty-six hierarchical layers between you and me.”

“But I’m at the top of that pyramid,” Tony said, quirking a smile. “That’s what counts.”

Peter leaned back against the workstation nearest to Tony. “Did you have to _summon_ me like that?”

Tony’s dark eyes flickered to him and then back to the bracelets. “Like what?”

“Everyone knows you called me upstairs.”

“I’m sorry,” Tony said sarcastically. “I forgot how embarrassing it is to know me.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “We’ve been over this, Tony. This is _work_. I don’t want any favors.”

Tony’s expression shifted into a pout, he felt offended. “I’m not doing you favors.”

“I don’t want special treatment.”

“I’m not giving you special treatment.”

“Not for a lack of trying. Dr. Frazier told me,” Peter answered.

Tony looked at him and rubbed the back of his hand over his chin. Peter felt his resignation before Tony huffed a breath and said, “I just asked him whether he’d be interested in one of the brightest minds of the future. You don’t belong in the intern pool.”

“But that’s how people start out, Tony, so just … don’t get involved. I don’t even want there to be a _possibility_ for anyone to suspect I get special treatment.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Fine, from now on, I won’t get involved and if I need to see you, I will write an e-mail.”

“ _Just_ to me. I’ll come by during lunch break or something.”

Tony huffed a laugh. “If you can fit me into your busy schedule, you mean?”

Peter crossed his arms.

Tony’s grin became softer, affection becoming the dominant emotion from him. “It’s good to see you, though, kid.”

Peter couldn’t help but smile back. “Yeah, you too.”

“Been busy lately?”

“Not overly so,” Peter answered, knowing Tony meant his patrols.

“Still don’t want me to take a stab at designing a suit for you?”

“Still determined to make me an Avenger?”

Tony snorted. “We should be so lucky.” The taser bracelet sparked and he dropped it with a hiss of pain. “Yikes,” he muttered.

Peter still didn’t know why Tony had called him up and since he’d learned a long time ago that going the direct route was the best tactic with Tony, he asked, “Is there a reason you wanted to talk to me?”

Tony hummed and fixed him with a look. “That depends. Is there a reason you’re using my highly advanced AI as a Google search engine?”

Peter’s heart skipped a beat.

“During working hours, no less,” Tony added. “Theoretically, that is frowned upon.”

“I don’t think JARVIS is specifically mentioned in my contract.”

Tony chuckled. “I found your search interesting. I don’t think I ever heard about Anchor-Empathy before. I read that paper you used as a reference — very interesting stuff.”

Peter swallowed. “Yes, which is why I was looking for more information.”

“So … just out of interest?”

Tony’s eyes carefully didn’t look at him, but Peter could feel his apprehension. He released a defeated breath, his shoulder slumping. “You know, don’t you?”

“You were looking into a correlation between Anchor-Empathy and broken Empathy,” Tony said. “I’d say it’s for a friend but … you told me once that your Empathy is extremely sensitive due to your powers and that you don’t like touch. I don’t think that’s quite true.”

Peter ducked his head. “It’s not.”

Tony looked at him for a long moment. “I went through JARVIS’s results. Broken Empathy is not treatable.”

Peter shrugged. “I think that’s wrong.”

“You got something?”

The fact that Tony just _believed him_ warmed Peter. It had always been that way between, from the moment Tony had approached him a couple of years ago to make Spider-Man an ally. “That’s what I’m trying to find out. I touched someone for the first time in years a couple of nights ago and … it felt different. We did it again yesterday and it … worked. I just want to know why.”

Tony set the bracelets down and crossed his arms, focusing on him. “Maybe your powers healed you.”

“Maybe Anchor-Empathy is actually a thing,” Peter said. “I don’t know. I just … I want to find out.”

“Okay,” Tony said. “JARVIS, forward Peter the results of your search.”

_“Very well, sir.”_

Tony nodded. “Feel free to follow up with JARVIS whenever you need to, kid. In case you need a quiet place to read, you can come up here any time. I’ll let Dr. Reid know that you’re doing a bit of research for me on the side.” Peter opened his mouth to protest but Tony added, “I’ll tell him to keep that information confidential, okay? You really shouldn’t worry so much, you’ve got enough brains to justify your place in this company.”

“People get jealous easily,” Peter answered. “And prejudices are a thing, you know? Nobody wants an Empath to succeed in a non-Empath career. It might encourage more of us to try.”

Tony looked at him for a long moment, sadness coming to the forefront. “Why’d you never tell me? About your condition?”

Peter shrugged. “You were pitying me enough already.”

Tony’s expression softened. “I never pitied you for even a second, Peter.”

Peter swallowed, averting his eyes. He smiled dimly. “I should get back.”

“Okay,” Tony said. “Hey, let me know in case you find more. I’ll make a few calls. Maybe I can find someone who can help.”

“I never found anyone,” Peter said.

“Well,” Tony answered. “You’re not Tony Stark, are you? There _are_ actually people who aren’t embarrassed to know me.”

***

When Peter entered the shelter, Carol was talking to two police officers. She was visibly upset, her blond hair in a haphazard knot, her arms crossed tightly over her chest and her blue eyes steely. As Peter approached, he heard her say, “I’m not naive. I’ve had my fair share of people here who walked out, but Maggie isn’t one of them.”

“What’s going on?” Peter asked, stopping next to Carol. This close, he could feel that she was worried, upset and scared and for a second, he wished he could put his arm around her shoulders in comfort. The two police officers, one around Peter’s age and the other older were calm. The older one was even a little annoyed.

Carol said, “They don’t think Maggie went missing. They think she went back on the streets.”

“All we’re saying,” the older officer said, one hand raised placatingly, “is that there is a _possibility_ that might be the case.”

Peter frowned. “I don’t think so. She just found an apartment, she has a steady job, she worked really hard to achieve all that.”

“There is still a chance that she felt the need to run again. Addiction can be-”

“She wasn’t addicted,” Carol snapped. “She was clean when she came here.” She stepped forward. “If you don’t want to look for her, then just say so.”

The younger officer said softly, “Nobody is saying that, ma’am. We’re just looking at all the possibilities.”

They took their leave soon after and Carol looked after them, her jaw clenched in anger. “They’re not going to do a thing.”

“Do you know where she went yesterday?” Peter asked.

“Her boss said not far from the office. East Harlem,” Carol answered. “Some place called _La Trattoria_.”

Peter made a mental note of the name.

Carol sighed and checked her watch. “I’ve got a meeting,” she said and gave Peter a small smile. “Thank you for coming by.”

“No problem,” he answered.

She left in the direction of the stairs. Peter watched her go before he turned and left the building, ducking into a nearby alley to change into his suit.

***

_La Trattoria_ was the only place in East Harlem by that name. Peter counted his lucky stars as he landed on a residential building opposite the street. The Italian restaurant was small, probably family-run, and quite busy. Peter pulled his phone out and started the MTA app, entering the location of the shelter as his destination to see which train Maggie might have taken last night.

There was a subway stop just a couple of blocks away.

Peter used the rooftops to retrace what he hoped was the path Maggie had taken the night before, peering into alleys and dark corners as he went, looking for any kind of sign of her. His phone beeped as he was clinging to the wall of an office building, his eyes raking over the dirty ground of the alley underneath him. He pulled his phone out and checked his messages.

**DP (WADE)**

_Dinner?_

The message made Peter pause, his heart skipping a beat. He’d left Wade yesterday after their hug had ended, emotionally exhausted. He’d also spent all day trying not to think too much about the hug, about how good it had felt to finally touch someone again. For a moment, he wondered whether he should turn Wade’s invitation down, worried that their encounter had been just a touch too intimate to just continue as they were before.

But he couldn’t deny that he _wanted_ to see Wade, that he felt secure in the knowledge that Wade cared about him, quite a lot, actually. Maybe even enough to develop their relationship into a new direction.

So he answered, _I’m in East Harlem_.

**DP (WADE)**

_Not your usual route. Something going on?_

_Missing person_ , he answered before pulling up Google Maps and sending Wade a pin with his location. He tucked his phone away and dropped down into the alley to take a closer look into the darker corners.

That was where he found it.

It was a handbag, off-brand but fairly new. Peter had seen Maggie with it a couple of times. He swallowed and looked inside, finding Maggie’s purse and an empty Tupperware container as well as a well-used copy of The Hunger Games. He looked around, trying to find more clues, but there were none. Climbing up onto the rooftop, he set the bag down, checking whether he hadn’t overlooked anything inside. But nothing pointed at Maggie planning to leave or at where she could have vanished to. Her purse contained some money and her ID. She didn’t have a cellphone that Peter could check for any clues.

He was at a dead end again.

Stepping towards the edge of the roof, he looked down at the street, the steadily flowing traffic and the people passing by. This area surely was also busy until late at night. He wondered whether it would have been easy to pull Maggie into the alley without anyone noticing. Or maybe they’d only discarded the bag there. Maybe she’d been grabbed before. But Peter hadn’t found signs of a struggle anywhere.

Peter shuddered when he felt his spidey sense starting to thrum, a shiver running down his spine. It was not unlike the feeling of being watched he got a couple of nights ago before the fire, but much stronger this time. He didn’t move in an attempt not to scare the person away before he could find them, instead closing his eyes, honing in his spidey sense to try and get the direction the unidentified threat was coming from.

From behind him, high up.

He turned quickly and raised his eyes towards the rooftop of an office building on the other side of the street.

There he was.

It was the silhouette of a man, standing at the edge of the rooftop. As soon as Peter spotted him, he turned and vanished from sight.

Peter didn’t hesitate. He jumped off the roof and swung across the street, quickly climbing the wall of the building to catch up, but predictably, when he arrived, nobody was there. He cursed, looking around and then down at the street but there was no sign of the guy. Peter’s spidey sense was calming down. The man really was gone.

Peter startled when he heard tires screech and a long honk coming from the street. He looked down to see that an accident had narrowly been avoided on the nearby crossing, the drivers of two taxis yelling at each other about the traffic lights not working and claiming they both had right of way. Peter frowned when he noticed that the traffic lights were indeed dark, only flickering to life again as he watched. Some of the dark streetlights came back to life at the same time and lights also came on in the surrounding buildings.

“Weird,” he said. Or maybe not. Power issues weren’t an unknown thing in a city as big as New York.

Peter sighed and swung back to the other side of the street to retrieve Maggie’s bag.

“Hey,” he heard behind him and turned around to Wade, who was carrying a plastic bag and looking at the handbag. “Missing girl?”

Peter nodded. “She didn’t come home last night and nobody has seen or heard from her today.”

Wade set the bag down and stopped next to Peter, looking up and down the street. “This part of town is quite busy. It would have been hard to grab her.”

“That’s what I was thinking,” Peter said. “I found her bag in that alley.”

“Maybe she was lured there.”

Peter pressed his lips together. “Possible. Still doesn’t explain how she was transported away.”

Wade gave him a moment to think about it, before he nudged his shoulder gently. “Come on, let’s eat.”

Peter sighed deeply and nodded, stepping away from the ledge to sit on the rooftop.

The bag contained hot dogs and they were about halfway through it when Wade asked, “So, how did you learn about this girl?”

Peter hesitated, swallowing his bite. He had a possibility now to tell Wade about his real identity and while he had fleetingly considered this before, he had always dismissed it in the end. Now, something had shifted and Peter’s wish to reveal that part of him to Wade had grown, even though another part of him – steered by habit – was warning him not to do so. “I … got a contact,” he said in the end, a bit of shame coloring his cheeks at the fib. “The missing girl lives at a homeless shelter and I was informed that she’d gone missing. I wanted to look into it.”

“A shelter nearby?”

“Near Avengers Tower,” Peter tried to keep it vague.

It seemed to be enough for Wade, because he nodded. “What was she doing here?”

“She has a job here.”

Wade hummed thoughtfully. “Maybe we can find some cameras nearby. One of them might have captured something.”

Peter nodded. “Yeah,” he said, getting up and brushing hot dog crumbs off his suit. “Let’s try that.”

“Hey, Spidey,” Wade said and he paused, turning back around. Wade’s expression was earnest, thoughtful, as were his emotions. “Are you okay?”

“You keep asking me that,” Peter answered, smiling.

“You keep giving me reasons to,” Wade replied.

“I’m fine,” he replied.

“You’re not …” Wade paused, his expression shifting towards something pained. “Freaked out?”

Peter wanted to tell him that _‘yes, quite a bit, this was new for him and he had no idea how to handle it right now’_ but then he noticed that Wade looked way too nervous to be asking about his general thoughts on what had happened last night. “What do you mean?”

Wade shook his head. “Nothing,” he said, pulling on his mask. “Let’s go.”

Hurt was rolling off him in waves, though, and Peter couldn’t let it stand like that. He snagged Wade’s arm as he passed. “Tell me.”

“I meant …” Wade hesitated. “About me … being into you.”

Peter stared at him. “Why would that freak me out?” Wade didn’t answer and Peter swallowed, gathering his courage before he answered, “I like you. A lot.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Or I wouldn’t hang out with you.”

Wade huffed a laugh. “That’s not exactly what I meant.”

Peter tightened his grip. “I know.” He shook his head. “I don’t mind.” He wondered whether he should say more, reveal that he might have more than friendly feelings … but he didn’t find the courage. “Let’s go,” he said instead.

***

They spent some more time looking for any trace of Maggie before Peter finally had to admit that there was nothing to be found. Admitting defeat, they parted ways for the night and Peter made his way home.

A couple of blocks after, he stopped to help out with a bad car accident, freeing the driver of a small convertible from his crushed vehicle and ensuring that the driver of the other car was alright as well. Thankfully, nobody was hurt too badly, which was a small miracle. Peter left when the police arrived on the scene, climbing a nearby building to continue on home.

It happened when he was just a couple of blocks away from the scene of the accident. He was swinging up, getting ready to shoot the next web … when his spidey sense screamed at him to get out of the way and a heavy weight barreled into him from the side.

Peter crash-landed on a nearby rooftop, rolled over his shoulder and regained his feet within seconds. He turned to face his attacker. The man stood at the edge of the roof, wearing a t-shirt and jeans of all things, his dark hair slicked back and cool blue eyes staring at Peter intently.

Peter tilted his head. “Hi.”

The guy smirked. Then his eyes flashed red and just a second later, he stood directly in front of Peter and delivered a blow to his chest that sent him flying backwards and knocked the air out of his lungs. Peter braced his fingertips against the roof to stop his tumble, his thoughts still caught on the fact that the man was obviously an enhanced human, while his spidey sense already reacted to the next lightning-quick attack. Now that Peter knew what he had to expect, it was easier for him to dodge, though the man’s fist still hit him in the stomach and glanced his cheek. Peter shot a web against the guy’s chest, pulling him forward to deliver a harsh blow to the man’s chin that made him stumble back and pause to spit blood on the roof.

When he lunged again, he moved even faster, Peter’s spidey sense barely able to keep up with the onslaught. He reacted on instinct, ducking and rolling and punching back whenever he could but he was aware that he was on the defense. The man was just too quick, his figure almost blurry as he moved, but Peter knew that this was just a matter of time. Super-speed was an awesome enhancement but it wrecked any metabolism within a short period of time and, as if to confirm Peter’s thoughts, the guy suddenly stilled and stumbled, dizzy.

Peter used his chance and shot a web, pinning the guy against a nearby AC unit. It didn’t last long, however, because all his attacker had to do was to touch the webbing and it started to melt away.

“You gotta be kidding me,” Peter gasped in disbelief. He made sure to be the first to attack this time, knocking the man back against the AC unit and trapping one of his hands just as the other made a grab for Peter’s wrist. Peter screamed when a shock of electricity hit him and threw himself back and away from the man, his muscle spasming in pain and his jaw clenched. He didn’t allow himself to recover for very long, approaching the guy again to end the fight but there was a bright, purple light and then the man was gone.

Peter stared at the place where he’d just been, cradling his ribs, gasping for breath. “Bye,” he murmured, wincing. “Who the hell were you?”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **The wonderful art in this story was created by violettavonviolet. Click on[the link](https://violettavonviolet.tumblr.com/post/642182508605292544/art-masterpost) to find the art post!**

“Hey, JARVIS,” Peter said as he entered Tony’s workshop, heading for one of the workstations next to the big panorama windows and setting his messenger bag down. He shrugged out of his hoodie jacket, breathing a sigh of relief while he also removed his fingerless gloves. Tony’s workshop was always well air-conditioned, while the summer heat was already causing the air in New York to flicker even before rush hour. The forecast said that the temperatures would lower in the coming days, but Peter didn’t hold out much hope for that to happen soon. And even if it did, the heat tended to linger in the city.

_“Good morning, Mr. Parker,”_ JARVIS answered.

“Is Mr. Stark in?”

_“He is in a meeting right now, but he left information for you on your research.”_

Peter sank into the stool and rolled it closer to the workstation, pulling the see-through computer screen into a position that would make it easier for him to read before he logged into the system. “Anything interesting?”

JARVIS took control of his computer, opening a file with several internet bookmarks and PDF files. _“Sir has had no success no tracking down valid proof that Anchor-Empathy actually exists, though he_ did _find several contacts interested in researching the topic. He was also not able to find a viable therapy for what is commonly termed ‘Broken Empathy’.”_

“Commonly termed?” Peter asked with a frown.

_“It seems he doesn’t agree with the phrasing and made a list of possible alternative terms.”_

Peter huffed a laugh.

_“Again,”_ JARVIS continued, _“he has found several contacts interested in researching the topic. The reason nobody did is funding. Research into Empathy is commonly considered low priority.”_

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Peter muttered.

_“Sir implemented a research foundation by the name of Sixth Sense Foundation yesterday,”_ JARVIS answered.

Peter froze and gaped at the screen where the paperwork was displayed. “You can’t be serious.”

_“Miss Potts didn’t agree with the naming, either.”_

“No, no, that’s not what I mean,” Peter said, breathless. “Though it _is_ not the best name.”

_“I’ll let Sir know you think so.”_

Peter still stared at the document. He couldn’t believe it. “He implemented a research foundation?”

“It was supposed to be a surprise,” Tony said from the door. He was wearing a suit complete with a white button-down and a tie, so the meeting he’d had must have been quite important.

Peter was still trying to wrap his head around the idea of Tony creating a foundation dedicated to researching Empathy. Even more so; Broken Empathy. As far as Peter knew, nobody had ever bothered to properly research the condition, nobody with the means to do so had cared enough and those who did care had been lacking the means. He shook his head. “It _is_ a surprise,” he answered. “Tony …” He stopped, swallowing. There were no words for what he felt. This meant everything because Tony didn’t do these kinds of things without intending to see them through. “Why?”

Tony shrugged and tucked his hands into his suit pockets. “Because I tried to find out more about your condition and noticed that nobody is really looking into it. Then I tried to research Anchor-Empathy, which is an idea that’s generally laughed at. And then I tried to find out more about Empathy in general and realized that it’s largely unexplored. Apart from some genetics research and an attempt in the 70s to _cure_ Empathy, which was just ridiculous, the landscape’s pretty barren. Which is surprising because almost 26% of the Earth’s population is an Empath.” He sniffed. “I don’t like not having information available when I need it, so I’m gonna make sure it’s there in the future.”

Peter stared at him. “Tony, I …” He trailed off, unsure what to say.

Tony shrugged and crossed his arms. “It’s not an immediate solution for your issue but it’s a first step. I managed to get some pretty interesting people on the foundation board, too. First meeting’s probably in about a month.” He stepped closer. “There’s a place at the board table available for you in case you’re interested.”

Peter’s eyes widened.

“I know, I know,” Tony said. “You don’t want any favors or charity or whatever you think is going on there but I genuinely think that you would make sure the foundation stays on track.”

“Tony,” Peter said and swallowed, trying to find words of appreciation. All he could think of was, “I kind of want to hug you.”

Tony took a step back, a slightly horrified look on his face. “Let’s not go there.”

Peter chuckled.

There was a subtle beep and one of the workstations near them came to life, the see-through screens displaying a map of New York. Several red dots were blinking on it while JARVIS announced, _“Sir, there was another one.”_

Tony stepped closer, squinting at the map, and muttered a curse.

“What’s going on?” Peter asked curiously.

“The city’s been complaining because there were several electrical power failures in the last couple of weeks.”

Peter frowned and joined Tony at the workstation, looking at the screen as well. “Yeah, I noticed something like that yesterday. Why would the city complain to _you_?”

“We haven’t officially announced it,” Tony said, “but there are tests going on with the arc reactor technology taking over the power supply. I’ve got five reactors active, not counting the one powering Avengers Tower. There were no issues the first month but now, they’re starting crop up.” He sighed. “Which means the city might discontinue the project.” He sighed. “I’ve run every analysis I could think of. I have no clue what’s going wrong.”

***

Peter entered the shelter in the late afternoon and, knowing that Carol would be in the kitchen to help prepare dinner, directly headed there. He stopped in the door to avoid the crowd of volunteers putting dinner together and instead waited for Carol to notice him while he brushed the hood of his jacket off his head. She waved at him. “Give me a sec.”

He nodded and stepped back into the corridor, pulling out his phone to check his messages, taking a few steps away from the kitchen. He could hear people talking in the canteen that was set up next to the kitchen and glanced over, finding the room as crowded as usual around this time. He recognized some of the faces and nodded at Eve and Simon, a young couple he’d seen around a lot more often recently. He noticed that they were looking through a brochure for the Training & Placement Program and made a mental note to ask them about it next time he would see them.

A shiver ran down his spine and he shifted uncomfortably as he felt _something_ tug at his Empathy, something unusual. He felt watched, all of a sudden.

His hands clenched around the strap of his bag and his eyes did another sweep of the room but nobody was paying him any attention. He frowned, trying to figure out what was happening. It wasn’t his spidey sense reacting to potential danger, he knew that much. It felt _different_ , almost as if he wasn’t standing in the corridor by himself.

As if someone was standing next to him.

Someone he felt comfortable around.

He closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead, the old wool of his fingerless gloves scratching over his skin. He tried to pinpoint the origin of the feeling, tried to drown out the noise around him and just focus on this new sense of not feeling alone, of having someone beside him …

“Peter.”

He startled and whirled around to Carol.

She was frowning at him. “Are you okay? You’re really pale.”

“I’m fine,” he answered quickly. “Completely fine, just …” He swallowed. “I think I didn’t have enough water today.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised. You’re dressed as if you’re waiting for a blizzard to hit,” Carol said. She stepped towards the nearby water cooler and filled a paper cup.

Peter took the opportunity to look around again but didn’t notice anything unusual.

“Here,” Carol said, handing Peter the cup. He made sure that their fingers didn’t brush when he accepted it.

Peter took a sip before he asked, “How are you doing?”

“Okay,” she answered.

“You didn’t hear anything?”

She shook her head. “No, nothing. I’ve spread the word to other shelters, though, hoping that she’ll turn up there.” She bit her lip. “But I think something happened to her, Peter. I can _feel_ it, you know?”

“We’ll find her,” Peter said, trying a smile. “It’s going to be fine.”

She nodded and gave him a gentle smile. “Thanks for checking in, Peter. I’m gonna head back to the kitchen unless you need something?”

He shook his head. She nodded at him and left.

Peter focused back on the feeling and it was still there, lingering. Stronger now. He closed his eyes, honing in on it. It still felt like someone was standing right beside him … or no …

… not beside him …

“Dude, you got some change?”

His breath caught at the familiar voice.

_Behind him_.

He turned around slowly. There, before him, stood a tall, broad-shouldered man in a sweatshirt and jogging pants, a baseball cap pulled deep into his face to hide the extensive scars that covered every inch of his skin.

“Wade,” Peter whispered and bit his lip a moment too late. It had escaped him before he could remember to stop himself.

Wade’s dark eyes were pinning him in place. “Fuck,” he said. “It’s _actually_ you. And you’re adorable because of course you are. My crush just got ten times worse.”

Peter ignored the blush that spread over his cheeks at Wade’s words and instead asked, “What are you doing here?” Then he noticed that they were still standing in the middle of the corridor and grabbed Wade’s sleeve to pull him into a nearby storage room, flicking on the bright lights. He made sure the door was closed before he turned to Wade and repeated, “What are you doing here?”

“Gathering information,” Wade said, leaning against a shelf filled with canned food. “You told me the missing girl lived in a shelter near Avengers Tower. There really is only three and I got lucky on my second try. I asked around a little.”

“Asked around?”

“Among the people living here,” Wade said. He removed his baseball cap to scratch his bald head, putting the cap on again immediately after. “Did you think of doing that?”

Peter shook his head, stunned. “No.”

Wade smirked. “Well, a couple of them know something is up.”

Peter frowned. “What?”

“They didn’t know the girl but they told me that, recently, people making use of the Training & Placement Program are going missing.”

That gave Peter pause. “How many?”

“Hard to tell. They only mentioned it because it’s weird. These people don’t live on the streets anymore, they’ve got a home, got a job or a training and just … vanish. The shelters file missing person reports but …”

“Homeless people go missing all the time.”

“Exactly, so nobody noticed the pattern.”

Peter mulled that over for a moment. “Many people are taking part in this program, why them?”

“They must have something in common,” Wade answered.

Peter’s eyes widened when he suddenly had an idea. “I have access to the system.” He left the storage room and hurried up the stairs to the little office he used when he volunteered, Wade close on his heels. He booted up the battered laptop and logged into the Training & Placement Program’s database. “So there are people who drop out of the program,” he said as Wade pulled a chair close and settled in next to him. “And when that happens, we enter it into the database.” He pulled up all the inactive participants and narrowed down the search by weeding out those who had moved out of the shelter and were considered reintegrated. Then he filtered out the ones who had left the program out of their own volition.

He was left with 132 records.

He frowned at the list. “These are inactive without a reason given. Most of them could be bad data maintenance, but some could be …”

“Something else,” Wade said.

Peter sent the list to the printer in the copy room. “There are nine shelters in New York taking part in the program,” he said. “Eight not counting ours. I’ll go to each of them tonight. I’ll follow up on all 132 records.”

Wade looked skeptical. “You wanna tell them what’s going on? Do you think that’s a good idea?”

Peter winced. “I set up the database with Stark Industries,” he said. “I’ll say we’re doing data maintenance improvements, following up on unclear records.”

“Let’s split the shelters then, take on four each.”

“The staff doesn’t know you,” Peter answered, shaking his head. “They won’t talk to you.”

Wade shrugged. “Okay, I’ll come with you then.”

Peter wanted to protest, used to doing things on his own – especially things concerning Spider-Man – but the thought of Wade being with him filled him with warmth.

So he nodded.

***

By the time they left the last shelter, it was almost eight in the evening.

Peter’s stomach had started to growl a while ago, so they found a food truck near Central Park. Peter took one look at the slightly crowded paths leading into the park and turned to ask Wade whether they could find a more secluded spot to eat. However, Wade seemed to have read his thoughts and led him to an apartment block on the other side of the street.

They stepped onto the roof through the unlocked door. The surface of the roof was still radiating warmth from the day, though the sun slowly started to disappear behind the skyline. There were a couple of cheap lawn chairs strewn about, but at the moment, the two of them were alone.

Wade sat down near the roof’s edge and waited for Peter to sit as well before he placed the bag of hot dogs between them. “You have the best view of The Arsenal from here,” he said.

Peter had to agree. He could see people milling about the park, enjoying the summer evening, while the traffic crawled by on the street below. He shrugged out of his hoodie jacket and removed his gloves, taking a moment to fold up the sleeves of his button-up before digging a hot dog out of the bag. He was hungry enough to almost forgo peeling the wrapping aside and took a big bite. Wade was watching him with a fond smile. He’d taken off his baseball cap on their way up but was still wearing his sweater. Peter found himself wondering whether Wade’s scarring was as bad on the rest of his body as it was on his face. He knew that Wade’s hands were definitely scarred and Wade had alluded to the scars being all-over several times. He knew Wade was self-conscious about his appearance, as much as he made jokes about it.

He caught himself thinking that they weren’t so different, really, in that regard.

Both of them hiding from the world underneath too many layers of clothing.

“You come here often?” he asked.

“Sometimes.” Wade unwrapped one of the hot dogs for himself and took a bite, asking with his mouth still full, “So, what’s the summary of today’s walk?”

Peter swallowed his bite and answered, “Nineteen out of 132 records are people who just vanished. They left some of their things behind at the shelter, so it’s unlikely that they returned to living on the street. All of them were enrolled in the Training & Placement Program, but not all of them had jobs when they vanished. Some were still waiting, others were in-between jobs, others had started to look at apartments. Some vanished immediately after being placed in the program, others months afterwards. No common theme such as them being the same gender or age or race.” He paused, chewing thoughtfully. “We’ve got nothing.”

Wade shrugged. “Nothing but the vague suspicion that someone is making people in that program disappear.”

“Yeah,” Peter answered. “Vague. If I didn’t know Maggie, I wouldn’t even look into this.” He sighed. “Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe she did just … leave.”

“Do you _actually_ think that?” Wade asked.

“I don’t know,” Peter answered. He looked towards The Arsenal, watching people leave and enter the park, the summer heat still lingering heavy in the air. Then he caught Wade staring at him and sent him a shy smile, his cheeks flushing. “What?”

“Just admiring the view,” Wade said. “It’s good to see you relax a little. You were pretty tense before.”

Peter shrugged and ducked his head. “It’s the subway and the sidewalks. Too many emotions. That’s why I don’t like being in crowds.” He hesitated, picking at his hot dog. “I … actually, it wasn’t so bad, though, today.”

Wade raised his eyebrows. “It wasn’t?”

Peter shook his head. “It felt a bit more manageable. _You_ made it more manageable.”

There was a long pause, before Wade softly answered, “I didn’t do anything.”

“Not consciously,” Peter said. But while they’d moved around the city, Wade had often provided a physical barrier between Peter and other people, especially during the subway rides. When Peter had huddled into his usual corner, Wade had positioned himself like an unmovable force in front of him, so that nobody could accidentally brush by him. What had helped even more than Wade’s physical presence, though, was whatever empathic connection they had formed. By now, Peter was pretty sure that was what had happened. The emotions of people around him just seemed quieter with Wade around, not chipping away at his damaged defenses, reduced to an annoying, constant buzz. “There’s this research I’ve been doing into Empathy and Empaths and … I found this thing called Anchor-Empathy and apparently, it means that there are people who are able to … support an Empath’s gift. It’s this unique bond.”

“Like soulmates?” Wade asked, looking skeptical.

“Like soulmates,” Peter slowly answered. “It’s mostly a thing that happens between couples, though there are examples of close friends and relatives sharing this bond.” He looked at Wade. “This might be able to heal Broken Empathy. Or at least be a step towards healing. Tony is trying to get some people to look into it.”

Wade looked towards the park, his face grim. “You’re pretty close with him, huh?”

Peter shrugged. “I guess. I mean … he figured out I was Spider-Man while I was still in university, basically offered me a position on the Avengers. He lets me use his workshop, sometimes he asks for my thoughts on his projects.”

Wade looked at him in surprise. “So … you’re an Avenger?”

Peter shook his head. “I turned him down.”

“Why?”

“Didn’t feel right. I like teaming up with them every now and again but … I think there’s a lot of governmental oversight involved and I don’t want that.”

Wade hummed thoughtfully. “Did he ever mention me?” There was an undercurrent of worry in the air, hovering around Wade.

Peter frowned and shook his head. “No, he doesn’t even know we hang out.” He felt relief coming from Wade and it confused him a little.

“You never told him?”

“I never tell him about patrol, unless it’s important to the Avengers. I think he feels like he’s got … some kind of responsibility for me because he knows my identity and basically shields me from the authorities. He has a tendency to butt in and take over. He means well but he can get a bit controlling, so I try to avoid giving him opportunities.” He shrugged. “But we’re friends, I guess. Allies, at the very least.”

Laughter rang up from the street and Peter saw a group of teenagers walk past. Watching them laugh together made him think of Gwen and Harry. He hadn’t heard from them in days, which wasn’t unusual, but still always left him feeling like he was missing something. Like he wasn’t part of their lives anymore.

“Why are you sad, baby boy?”

Peter looked at him. “You can feel that?”

“I can _see_ that,” he answered.

Peter shrugged and finished his hot dog. “Just … friends I haven’t seen in a while.”

“Did you ever go out with them like that?” He nodded towards the teenagers.

Peter shook his head. “I couldn’t.” He sighed. “The first three years or so were the worst. I could barely leave the apartment for anything other than school.”

“How did it happen?”

Peter pulled his legs up to his chest crossed his arms on his knees. “I felt someone die,” he answered. “Someone close to me.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “I can’t even begin to describe to you what that feels like.”

There was a long pause, during which a deep sadness settled over Wade like a cloud, then he shuffled closer until his arm was pressed up against Peter’s. “You don’t have to,” he said. “I know.”

“Yeah,” Peter whispered, thinking back on a night when their friendship had still been pretty new and Wade had told him about his healing factor, about being unable to stay dead. His fingers found Wade’s on the warm surface of the rooftop and he closed his eyes when Wade’s emotions crashed into him through the touch, but … it was easier this time not to get overwhelmed.

Wade’s emotions were complex, sad and guilty and happy at once. Peter could feel them all, but they were muted and slightly distant, easier to control. “How are you doing that?” he asked.

“I’m not doing anything,” Wade answered.

“It’s getting easier,” Peter said, looking at him. “As if I’m getting used to you.” A new emotion came to life, one that Peter had gotten familiar with from Wade. It was arousal or attraction, pooling low in Peter’s stomach and making his heart speed up.

The thought to kiss Wade came suddenly and uninvited and he reacted to it on an impulse. He leaned closer … and Wade leaned back a bit.

Peter frowned. “Wade?”

He stared at him, sadness at the forefront again.

“What’s wrong?” Peter asked.

“Have you tried to touch anyone else in the last couple of days?”

The question caught Peter off-guard and he shook his head.

“Maybe you should try. Maybe it’s not me, maybe your Empathy is just … healing.”

Peter frowned. “Why are you saying that?”

Wade turned to look at The Arsenal. “Because you might have options.”

Peter stared at him for a long moment. Wade might be right. Maybe his Empathy was healing, maybe he was recovering. But that didn’t change a thing about his wish to kiss Wade. “I don’t need options.” When he leaned in this time, Wade only hesitated for a moment before he met him half-way. The rush of emotions he felt when their lips met made Peter dizzy for a moment and his weight tipped forward.

Wade’s arm came around his waist, steadying him, while his other hand settled on Peter’s jaw, adjusting their positions just slightly before he pulled back and leaned their foreheads together, panting slightly. “Okay, that’s a rollercoaster.”

Peter looked at him, just as breathless. “You feel that?”

“I had no idea kissing could be this good!” With that, he pressed another kiss to Peter’s lips, taking advantage of the gasp he elicited to deepen it immediately. Peter made a conscious effort this time to push emotions towards Wade, his breath catching when he felt them circle back around …wave after wave after wave of warmth and affection and need, spiraling up and out of control, until he thought he would drown, his hand fisted in Wade’s hoodie and their legs intertwined, the summer air cool against his kin and the noise of the city surrounding them.

Peter couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this happy.

***

By the time Peter got home, it was already late, but he still felt energized, so he decided to do a small patrol round in the neighborhood. It didn’t take long for people to notice him and he waved back as they shouted greetings at him while he swung by. Some of them took pictures and videos on their phones and he tried to work in a couple of extra tricks for them, much to their enjoyment.

He was passing by Bryant Park when it happened. The electricity in some of the nearby buildings flickered and then died for a second before recovering. Peter stopped his swing by clinging to a building’s facade, watching the situation.

He was still wondering whether the failure had to do with the arc reactor technology when his spidey sense flared to life. Peter climbed the building to get to the rooftop and in a less vulnerable position, looking around for a potential threat. He saw him a second before he struck and moved out of the way just in time.

The attacker from the night before flew past him and collided with the rooftop, rolling to get to his feet. When he straightened, Peter noticed distractedly that he didn’t have any wounds on him despite the bad fall he’d taken, but he filed that tidbit of information away for later while he webbed the man’s feet together and attached another web to his chest to pull him forward and make him fall again.

Just a second later, he felt like he was being punched out of thin air and he flew back, collapsing against the roof. The air around him seemed weighted down, so heavy that he could barely breathe, his movements restricted. As dark spots started to dance in front of his eyes, he saw a shadow loom over him and a hand reach for his throat. He forced himself to roll out of reach, his muscles screaming in protest as if he was breaking through vibranium chains, but he managed to get out of reach of whatever his attacker had been doing because he was suddenly easily able to jump to his feet, catching the guy’s fist as it headed for his face and letting go again quickly when he felt the zap of electricity.

“You learned a new trick,” he gasped, noticing that the man looked just slightly pale, as if whatever he had done to the air to make it so heavy had taken its toll.

“Several,” he answered and approached for another attack, leaving himself completely open to hits as he focused on attacking.

Peter took advantage of that and landed a blow into the man’s stomach with a little more force than he usually would. The man didn’t even flinch. Peter got his jaw next, but that didn’t stop the ruthless attack either. It was almost as if he was hitting stone.

A bolt of electricity hit Peter’s chest and he fell back, the man’s hand pinning him to the roof by his throat before he could regain his footing, a light current of electricity ensuring that Peter’s muscles clamped up and refused to react to any command. “I’m a big fan,” the man said, his face pulled into an ugly grimace.

“I’m honored,” Peter hissed between clenched teeth. “Maybe just send a letter next time.”

The electrical current dispersed, the man looking drained, and Peter took a deep breath, flexing his fingers and toes to try and get past the numbness. “What do you want?” he asked.

The man’s face got closer as he leaned in, a twisted grin on his face. “ _You_.” His free hand grabbed Peter’s mask and started to pull and Peter didn’t need more of a prompt to move. He fired a web at the guy’s face and then kicked him back, sending him rolling over the rooftop. Peter jumped to his feet and followed him immediately, shooting another web to pin his arm. As he took aim to pin the other arm, though, there was a blinding flash of light and the man was gone.

Peter dropped to his knees with a curse, groaning low in his throat as he gasped for breath. He looked at the spot where the man had been just a minute ago before vanishing into thin air and shook his head. “Who is that guy?”

***

Peter decided to call Wade as soon as he got home. His intention had been to find out whether Wade knew about the man, but it resulted in Wade climbing through Peter’s window with three large pizzas and a worried look on his face.

His concern abated once he’d convinced himself that Peter was okay and now, they were sharing the pizzas on Peter’s couch. Peter had taken a shower, his hair drying in the cool night air streaming through the open window, while Wade was still wearing the sweatshirt and jogging pants he’d worn a couple of hours ago.

“It was freaky,” Peter said, taking a new slice of pizza out of the box. “It was like he got new powers since yesterday night.”

Wade hummed thoughtfully. “What did he want?”

Peter paused for a moment. “He said he wants _me_. Whatever that means.” He leaned back against the arm of his couch, the soles of his bare feet braced against Wade’s thigh. The contact was warm even through Wade’s pants.

Wade huffed a breath. “Well, he can forget about _that_.”

“I thought the first attack was just kind of a freak coincidence,” Peter said. “But if he’s after me, he was able to find me twice and catch me off-guard.”

“It’s not hard to find you when you’re out patrolling,” Wade said with a shrug and held up his phone, the display showing a Twitter feed with several pictures of varying quality, but all of them of Peter out on patrol.

“SpideyWatch,” Peter murmured.

“People see you, take a pic, upload and give the location.”

Peter frowned at him.

“Hey, don’t knock it. Sometimes, they get great pics of you swinging … and your butt.”

Peter rolled his eyes and finished the slice of pizza. “I hate social media.”

“You haven’t seen the pictures,” Wade answered, scrolling through what was possibly the feed … or his gallery.

“Stop that,” Peter said, a grin tugging at his lips.

“Hm,” Wade replied, still looking at his phone. “The way he just vanished, I’d say he can either teleport or is using a teleportation device. It wouldn’t be hard for him to catch up with you once the account posts a new picture of your location.”

Peter shrugged. “Yeah, probably not.” He set the pizza box aside and sighed, going boneless and closing his eyes. It was late and he was tired.

But he didn’t want Wade to leave.

“So,” Wade said, finally putting the phone aside, “technically, this is our second date, yeah?”

Peter smiled. “We didn’t have an official first date.”

“We kissed.”

“Okay,” Peter conceded. “But that was, like, three hours ago. I don’t think that this can count as our second date so soon after the first.”

“Who makes the rules?” Wade answered. He moved to lean over Peter, one arm on the back of the couch to support him while his other hand brushed Peter’s cheek. Peter felt a flash of emotions at the contact, there and gone again, before they returned in gentle, manageable waves. Wade leaned down a little closer, his hand going to the back of Peter’s head. “Okay?” he asked.

“Okay,” Peter answered.

Wade leaned down for a kiss, letting it linger for a while before he lowered his weight a little further. Peter moved his legs apart to give him room, smiling into the kiss.

They didn’t move from the couch for a while.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **The wonderful art in this story was created by violettavonviolet. Click on[the link](https://violettavonviolet.tumblr.com/post/642182508605292544/art-masterpost) to find the art post!**

Peter found himself unable to sleep after Wade left, his mind busy putting pieces together without him giving proper input. It happened sometimes that his thoughts ran wild while mulling over a problem. It was usually his instinct pointing him in the right direction, but it normally, it was an occurrence reserved for when he worked in the lab or on his suit. 

Instead, he thought about the man who had attacked him and the events of the last few days.

The man was without a doubt the one who had caused his spidey sense to react with unease the night of the fire and when he’d been looking for Maggie in Harlem. That was also the time he’d noticed a power failure. It could have been Tony’s arc technology failing but something told Peter it was more than that. The timing was just too convenient, the failure happening just when the man had vanished from Peter’s sight – likely by using his teleportation device. A device like that would surely have an impact on the surrounding power grid.

And if that was the case, Peter thought, he would be able to track him down.

One quick shower and a subway ride later, Peter was at Avengers Tower when it was still dark out. The security guard unlocked the door to the Tower for him when Peter showed his employee ID, tsking about “overeager kids coming in on the weekend” while Peter jogged towards the elevators and took one up to the 86th floor.

Tony’s lab was dark and abandoned, but JARVIS switched the lights on for him. _“Good morning, Mr. Parker,”_ he said.

“Hey, JARVIS. Can you do me a favor and pull up the map with the power failures Tony registered?” He dropped his bag in a corner and grabbed a soda from the mini-fridge in the kitchenette. JARVIS used the closest workbench to present him with the map. Peter leaned closer to the screen and stared at the numerous red dots. He reached out to touch the map, using his fingers to zoom out and see a larger area of New York, which now included Brooklyn and Queens. He immediately noticed that the occurrences were clustered an only a few of them popped up as outliers. That seemed suspicious. “How many failures have you registered?”

_“Forty-six.”_

Peter frowned at the map. “Add dates to the view,” he said and dates hovered next to the dots. Peter’s eyes first strayed over to Harlem. “Why are there no records for Harlem?”

_“We do currently not supply power to Harlem,”_ JARVIS answered.

“You don’t?” Peter asked.

_“It’s not part of the test area. We supply power to the Upper East and West Side, Lenox Hill, Hell’s Kitchen, Turtle Bay, Midtown, Chelsea, the Flatiron District and part of Queens.”_

“I witnessed a power failure in Harlem a couple of nights ago.”

_“It couldn’t have been connected,”_ JARVIS said.

Peter found a mark for the date of the fire, close to where his spidey sense had first started to warn him he was being watched and another one on the route from Harlem to his apartment from last night. His eyes checked all the clusters and he frowned when he started to see the connection to the kidnappings. “JARVIS,” he said slowly, “can you overlay the map with locations of homeless shelters?”

JARVIS didn’t answer, but blue marks appeared on the map. Nine of them were located close to the clusters. All the shelters in which people had gone missing.

Peter swallowed. “That’s it,” he muttered. “He must’ve gone to the shelters several times to watch the people he wanted to take, that’s how there are clusters. The outliers are when he actually kidnaps them.”

_“One cluster seems not to be connected to a shelter, Mr. Parker.”_

“Yeah, I’ve noticed” Peter answered, looking at the cluster of red dots in the small jut of landmass between Bowery Bay and Luyster Creek in Queens.

It was the only cluster in Queens.

Peter knew the area rather well. Aside from the power station and wastewater treatment plant, there were warehouses located in the area. The cluster of power failures in that area was the biggest, implying that it was the area the man had most travelled to.

Peter set his soda can down. “That must be his hiding place.” He quickly headed for his bag and pulled his suit out, stripping off his hoodie and button-up.

_“Mr. Parker,”_ JARVIS said, _“I feel like I should enquire what you just deduced.”_

“I think I found a kidnapper.” He kicked off his sneakers and jeans. “And now I’ll go get him.”

_“Do you need Sir’s assistance?”_

Peter huffed a laugh, pulling on his suit, and tucking his phone into the hidden pocket by his hip. “He can keep my stuff safe for me. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” One of the panorama windows clicked open without Peter having to ask for it and he grinned while pulling on his mask. “Thanks, JARVIS.” He braced himself while he approached the window, knowing that it would be a long fall before he could shoot a web to a building to catch himself. Avengers Tower was higher than its surrounding buildings.

He took a deep breath, then he jumped.

***

The location of the cluster was the rooftop of what had once been an import/export business.

A lone truck stood in the parking lot, the company’s logo printed on its side faded. The parking lot and the two buildings – one small and one only slightly bigger – were dilapidated, grass and moss poking through cracked concrete, graffiti sprayed on the walls and some windows destroyed.

Peter rounded the smaller building first, noting that it had once probably been the office of the company. The bigger building had probably served as a repair shop.

After giving the inside of the office building a quick search, Peter rounded the garage once, trying to see whether there was any sign of the kidnapper or maybe his victims but everything was still. He used one of the destroyed windows to crawl inside. Tools had been left behind and some tires, but other than that, the inside of the building was swept clean. He didn’t see anything out of the ordinary, so he made his way over to the open door at the end of the room, probably another office or maybe a break room.

While approaching, Peter was able to pick up on a scent he had only encountered once or twice before, but hadn’t been able to forget since the first time he’d smelled it: decay.

His stomach dropped, his heart twisting.

He moved faster, hurrying to push open the door entirely … and stopped. The windows were painted black, the light of the streetlamps barely creeping in through some cracks in the paint.

It was enough to see that none of them had survived.

There were seven of them lying on the floor and the one closest to Peter was Maggie, her dark eyes that he only knew to be full of energy now empty, staring at him vacantly. Hit by a wave of nausea, he stepped back and pulled off his mask, turning away as he tried to keep his stomach in check.

He didn’t know what he’d been expecting. Maybe he’d been hoping on some level that Maggie was still alive, that the others who had vanished were also okay. It had probably been naive to think that way. A couple of tears slid down his cheeks and he wiped them away stubbornly, forcing himself to focus his hearing, making sure that there was no sign of life coming from any of the bodies in the room.

But it was too late.

Peter’s first instinct was to call the police, but then he reconsidered, thinking that the killer would return at some point and he could catch him red-handed. So he sat in the rafters of the warehouse for a couple of hours, the smell of death in his nose, no matter how far away he stayed from the room.

But the man didn’t come and by the time the sun was starting to rise, Peter couldn’t bear leaving them there any longer. He pressed his lips together and pulled out his phone to call 911.

***

Peter didn’t return to the Tower for his bag and clothes.

Instead, he went straight home and sat in the shower for almost an hour. It was easier to cry under the falling water, easier to hide even from himself how much it always affected him when he was too later to save someone, especially when it was someone he knew. He cried for Maggie and he also cried for Carol, who would surely receive the news soon and be devastated.

Then he tried to get rid of the smell of decay that still clung to his nostrils, using up enough body wash that he felt guilty.

Eventually, the water ran cold and he had to shut it off.

It was when he stepped out of the shower that he noticed Wade’s presence, first through whatever bond they had formed over the last few days, then because he heard him sing along to the radio and smelled scrambled eggs and burnt toast. He put on the t-shirt and boxershorts he’d taken into the bathroom with him and wiped his eyes one more time before stepping out. Wade’s hoodie had been abandoned on the couch and Peter’s window was open, the cool morning breeze cooling the apartment down a bit.

Wade was wearing a t-shirt and sweatpants when Peter found him in the kitchenette. It was the first time Peter saw more of Wade’s bare skin than his face and hands. The scars running up his arms didn’t surprise him, but he wondered yet again how much it must have hurt to get them. He was also pretty sure that the constant, deep ache he’d felt from Wade whenever they’d touched was caused by those scars. He couldn’t imagine living with that kind of pain constantly.

Then again, his Broken Empathy probably wasn’t that different to live with.

Wade smiled. “I thought I’d surprise you with breakfast. Didn’t know you were already …” He trailed off, his features dropping from a wide smile to a deep frown. “What happened?” Peter ducked his head, sure that Wade must have seen his red yes or maybe he was paler than usual, but Wade said, “Something is wrong with your … I can feel something’s wrong.”

Peter looked at him and nodded. “I …” He swallowed. “I found … Maggie.”

“Oh shit,” Wade muttered and stepped closer, stopping himself before making contact, a longing pouring off him while he also held himself back, his arms slightly raised towards him. “Peter, is she …”

He shook his head and walked into Wade’s arms.

***

When it was as hot as it had been over the last couple of weeks, Peter routinely didn’t close his window at night or in the early morning hours when he was home. The fire escape outside of his apartment was old and squeaked and rattled whenever someone set foot on it. So in case anybody considered entering Peter’s apartment while he was asleep or still dosing, he would wake up in time to do something about it.

Enhanced senses had their perks.

The open window allowed him to bask in the still-cool morning breeze as he lay in bed, watching Wade dose, his face relaxed and his arm heavy where it was wrapped around Peter’s waist, the tips of his fingers tucked underneath the waistband of Peter’s boxershorts. Peter’s fingertips brushed over the scarred skin of Wade’s arm, focused on whether he could feel any sort of pain or discomfort through their connection as he did. But there was nothing but sleepy affection and comfort coming off Wade.

He thought back to what Wade had said the day before about his empathy healing. Maybe he was right. Maybe Anchor-Empathy wasn’t a thing at all. Maybe Peter’s Empathy had recovered somewhat and he hadn’t noticed because he’d avoided physical contact. Maybe he should try and initiate touch with someone else, just to see whether he could get used to them as well as he got used to Wade. But … the way they could feel each other nearby, the way Wade somehow managed to mute the world around Peter, to make it bearable to walk in a crowd … there was no denying that there was _something_ between them.

Maybe, he thought and bit his lip, the truth lay somewhere in the middle.

His phone vibrated against the nightstand and he grabbed it before it could wake Wade, checking his messages.

**TONY S.**

_Your stuff’s still here, are you ok?_

_I’m fine_ , he answered. _Kind of a rough morning._ _Can I pick up my stuff later?_

**TONY S.**

_Anytime. How does lunch sound? You can bring me up to speed about the power failures._

JARVIS must have updated Tony already and now he was invested. Peter had the sneaking suspicion that Tony mainly wanted to see him to make sure he was alright, not so much about the power failures. He sighed. Peter didn’t want to get up right now. He wanted to lie here a little while longer with Wade, soak up his warmth and comfort before having to wrap up in all his layers again and walk through the city. _I’ll come by during lunch, then?_

**TONY S.**

_Works for me._

Peter replied with a thumbs-up. He turned back towards Wade and closed his eyes, smiling when Wade pulled him closer.

***

“So, we can be sure that it’s not the arc technology causing the power failures,” Tony said, picking the last few pieces of meat and vegetables out of his Chinese take-away box. They were seated at the big kitchen island that separated Tony’s kitchen from the large living room of the penthouse in Avengers Tower. None of the other Avengers were there and neither was Pepper. Peter was glad, because more people meant more emotions and without Wade nearby, he felt more exposed than ever before.

He nodded at Tony’s question. “Yeah, pretty sure it’s that guy.”

Tony frowned. “What’s his power set?”

Peter shrugged. “It’s hard to say. Varied. I’ve never seen something like it before. Usually, mutations are quite limited, especially the powers you can use to fight. You get one, maybe two. Super-strength _or_ the power to create electricity, super-speed _or_ matter control. He had it all, like … a whole arsenal at his disposal.”

Tony nodded. “Similar to the Iron Man suit. I improve it whenever I encounter an issue or notice something’s missing.”

“Yeah,” Peter said. “It seems he’s doing the same. He grew stronger between our encounters. It was almost like he noticed he couldn’t win and came back bigger and stronger.”

“He still didn’t win,” Tony said, his dark eyes resting on Peter’s face in concern.

“He’ll come back bigger and stronger again,” Peter said. “I’m not sure yet how the murders are connected. It doesn’t make any sense at the moment.”

“Was there anything special about your friend? You know, anything that might draw a killer?”

“No,” Peter said, shaking his head. He’d mulled it over himself on his way over here, thinking about it from top to bottom and side to side … but he hadn’t found an answer. “No, she was just … she was just trying to get back on her feet.” He blinked against tears. “She was succeeding, too.”

Tony’s eyes were earnest and he stretched one hand out towards Peter’s wrist before he caught himself, squeezing empty air. “I’m really sorry, kid.”

Peter nodded. “I know.” His phone ringing cut through the ensuing silence and Peter’s stomach knotted with nerves when he saw Carol’s name on the display. “Crap.” He slid off the stool and walked towards the panorama windows overlooking the city, turning his back on Tony as he answered, “Hey.”

_“Peter,”_ she answered and choked on something that sounded like a sob.

Peter swallowed, closing his eyes in defeat. He tried to keep the catch out of his voice when he asked, “What’s wrong?”

_“It’s Maggie,”_ Carol said. _“They found her.”_ She took a breath. _“Peter, she’s dead.”_

***

“Two detectives were here just an hour ago. It was …” Carol sniffed and used a tissue to wipe her eyes and cheeks before wrapping her hands around the cup of tea Peter had set down on her desk. “They said they found several … bodies down in an abandoned garage in Queens, following an anonymous tip. Maggie was one of them.”

Peter settled into one of the visitor chairs that were set up by Carol’s desk, glancing at the door to make sure it was closed. They didn’t need anyone else hearing about this just yet. He huddled into his hoodie, his shoulders drawn up defensively. He knew that it probably looked strange to Carol, but her grief and sadness were almost too much for him, his head starting to pound with an ache. “What happened?”

Carol shrugged. “They don’t know. Asked all kinds of questions about what I knew of Maggie’s life before she came here, did I know anything about her family, did I know if she was seeing someone, that sort of thing.” She cleared her throat. “They asked whether I knew that Maggie was enhanced.”

Peter’s eyes widened in surprise. “She was enhanced?”

Carol shrugged. “’s what they said.” She shook her head. “It doesn’t make any sense, though, I mean … she never said anything, she never did anything extraordinary.” She looked at Peter. “I mean, wouldn’t we _notice_ if someone with superpowers would be sitting opposite us?”

Peter grimaced, shifting uncomfortably. “Uh … I guess it’s not necessarily easy to spot.”

Carol shrugged. “I don’t know. In any case, the others they found were enhanced as well.”

“What exactly did they say?” Peter asked.

Carol swallowed and cleared her throat. “There were … I think they said seven of them. They didn’t show me any pictures or anything but they said that it looked like they’d been … tortured or something. I didn’t want them to go into details.”

Peter nodded and lowered his voice, carefully asking, “How did she die?”

“They said some sort of heart failure.” She heaved a sigh. “They have no clue yet what happened to them. Said there are only two things in common they all had: they were enhanced and they took part in the Training & Placement Program.”

Peter had already expected yet, but hearing confirmation was still good. “Really?”

Carol nodded. “So they asked for all the files. They might call you at some point because you set up the database and you were the one who placed Maggie.”

“That’s fine,” Peter answered quickly.

Carol sighed deeply and clearly tried to get a hold of her emotions, wiping her eyes before she looked at Peter. “I just don’t get it,” she said. “Who would _do_ something like this?”

Peter knew. He knew who. He just didn’t have a name or an address or any way to find him. Because now that police had raided the garage, it was unlikely that the man would return there. The only thing that he knew with certainty was that the guy was after him, too. For whatever reason. He clenched his jaw.

Maybe he should make sure he was easy to be found.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **The wonderful art in this story was created by violettavonviolet. Click on[the link](https://violettavonviolet.tumblr.com/post/642182508605292544/art-masterpost) to find the art post!**

Peter had made a habit out of carrying his suit around, tucked to very bottom of his messenger bag. Just so he wouldn’t get caught off-guard in case anything especially destructive or disastrous happened. As a true New Yorker who had grown up in a time in which alien attacks and supervillains were a regular threat to the city’s citizens and infrastructure, he, along with the rest of the city, came to expect it at least a little. Not just because he almost always got caught up in the middle of the action, but also because it was just part of the city’s charm these days.

Today, he didn’t suit up to join a fight, though. Today, he suited up to swing to the nearest police department as the evening rush hour started to crawl through the streets, his bag strapped tightly to his back. He made sure to focus a little more on his spidey sense than usual, half-expecting an attack. He knew that there was a big chance it wouldn’t happen or at least not before the guy found even more people to kill, so he had also come up with a back-up plan.

Having checked the map with locations of power failures before leaving the Tower this afternoon, Peter knew that since the victims had been found, no new clusters had cropped up. He’d asked JARVIS to alarm him via text message in case this should happen.

Until he would get a solid lead, he had decided to do some research.

Peter crouched behind the humming air condition unit of the police department to hide from the officers that used the rooftop for a smoke. He got his laptop out of the bag and switched it on.

Technically, he knew, it wasn’t legal to hack into the police’s network and gain access to files. Then again, almost everything he did as Spider-Man wasn’t entirely legal. He’d done this a couple of times in the past already, whenever he desperately needed information he wouldn’t get for free, and he had gained a bit of practice in it.

Maybe, he thought wryly, he should get himself a contact within the police, just to make this part a little easier. It was unlikely to happen, though. While the police didn’t outright hate Spider-Man, many of them were skeptical of his motives while others were just downright annoyed at his existence. They didn’t shoot at him when they saw him, but they weren’t exactly friends, either.

He made quick work of navigating case files and finding the reports he was looking for. He downloaded them quickly and closed the laptop, tucking it into the messenger bag before he made sure nobody saw him swing off the roof.

He retreated to Manhattan Mall’s rooftop to parse through the downloaded files. He quickly found the crime scene report listing the names of all the victims and then opened the coroner’s reports. Not all autopsies had been finished yet, but he had four files ready to look at.

He avoided the one bearing Maggie’s name.

He flipped through the pictures of the other three first, noticing something that hadn’t quite clicked with him when he’d found them. He hadn’t looked closely enough then, too horrified. Now, he could see that the skin of the victims was covered in sores – as if they’d been exposed to extreme radiation.

The coroner stated that several organs were in bad shape and seemed to have failed, but concluded that the cause of death was ultimately heart failure.

Peter skimmed the results of the blood tests and froze.

All three victims showed the typical markers of being enhanced.

He swallowed. Caught by a sudden idea, he used the wifi of the mall to log into the admin portal of the Training & Placement Program. He checked all names except for Maggie’s, finding that all victims had been enrolled in the program. There was a voluntary health check offered to those who enrolled and Peter was easily able to pull up the records of the three victims whose coroner reports he’d checked. One of them had an iron deficiency, but other than that, the tests had come out without any special remarks. Peter knew that markers for enhancements, even when dormant, typically easily showed up in blood tests. There was no way the lab could have overlooked them. It was even less likely that they had coincidentally gained powers since the health check had been done through an accident, like Peter had gained his powers.

Not all of them.

He bit his lip, thoughtful, and wondered whether them gaining enhancements had anything to do with the killer gaining new powers in-between the two times Peter had encountered him. The garage had been devoid of any kind of scientific equipment, but then again, it could just have been a drop-spot for him. That made him wonder where the guy actually kept the victims. There had been no other clusters but those near the shelters, no other location the man frequently travelled to.

It couldn’t hurt to double-check, though, he thought and closed the laptop.

***

With a resigned sigh, Peter had to give up his search at the locations two hours later. There were no suspicious buildings in the area surrounding the clusters. It was hard to admit, but for now, he was hitting a brick wall.

Peter met Wade for dinner on their usual rooftop while the sun set. Traffic was rolling over Queensboro Bridge and the streets below them, the heat giving way to a few cool breezes here and there. They were sharing a bag of chimichangas while Peter told Wade about what he had found out. Wade had become quieter the longer Peter spoke.

“So,” Peter finished, “if they didn’t have any powers before they were killed but they had them when they died, they must have _gained_ them somehow. And, I mean, we all know about people being given enhancements intentionally, so it’s not like it’s only possible genetically or because of a freak accident like with me.”

“Yeah, just look at _me_ ,” Wade said slowly.

Peter paused, staring at him as he began to understand. “They were covered in wounds when they were found,” he said, his eyes tracing over Wade’s scarred features, recalling how the scars covered his entire body. “I thought their wounds looked like radiation poisoning but … actually, they could have happened the same way yours did.” He set his food down, feeling nauseous all of a sudden. “Wade, do you think Weapon X could be behind this?”

Wade chewed very slowly and swallowed. “Maybe, they’re like cockroaches. I might not have caught them all.”

Peter swallowed. “Okay. So, if we have Weapon X or maybe somebody else doing something similar in the city … they pick people from homeless shelters.”

“People who aren’t going to be missed.”

“People enrolled in the Training & Placement Program?” Peter asked. “I don’t want to sound cruel, but wouldn’t it be even less noticeable to pick somebody who only uses the shelter for a night or two? Or someone directly off the streets?”

Wade shrugged. “Maybe they did and nobody noticed.”

“But all the victims found last night were in the program.”

Wade chewed thoughtfully. “There must be something that makes them different, then. And it’s all connected to your stalker.”

Peter nodded. “He gained new powers in-between the two attacks on me. If he’s Weapon X or, I don’t know, any other organization involved in this kind of stuff … maybe the victims were lab rats for him. To test out new enhancements.”

“How did they end up disfigured and he didn’t?”

Peter sighed, deflating when he realized that Wade had a point. “I don’t know. We’re missing something.” He stared down at the traffic thoughtfully. “But … I know someone with a super-computer and a database about everything having to do with mutants and enhancements.”

“IronDick?” Wade asked.

Peter rolled his eyes. “Don’t be mean.”

“He started it.”

“How? You never met.”

Wade grumbled something that Peter didn’t quite catch, which was a feat considering his enhanced hearing. He decided to ignore it. “I should at least go and check whether the Avengers had any encounter with Weapon X recently. Or maybe even HYDRA?” He frowned. “Unlikely, but still.” He got up and dusted off his suit. “Maybe it is Weapon X. Maybe one of the guys you put in prison got out, you know? Restarted the program.”

Wade looked at him, puzzled. “Prison?”

“Yeah, prison,” Peter answered and smiled. “The place where the bad guys go.” He leaned down to peck Wade’s lips before putting on his mask. “I won’t need long. Let’s meet up at the Flatiron in two hours?”

He threw Wade a smile and a wave and then jumped off the rooftop to swing towards Avengers Tower.

***

“Hey, Tony,” Peter said as he entered the workshop through his usual window and pulled off his mask. The bright lights sent his enhanced sight reeling for a moment, until his eyes adjusted.

Tony grunted a greeting, bowed low over the open chest of an Iron Man suit stretched out on the workbench before him. Peter could smell the faint scent of evaporating smoke in the air and Tony had sounded not just distracted but mad. From experience, he knew it was best to give him a minute to finalize whatever he was doing and got himself a soda out of the mini-fridge in the small kitchenette. He sipped on it while he studied an array of what seemed to be child drawings of Iron Man and the Avengers on the wall. It hadn’t been there when he’d last visited this morning.

He smiled.

“Kid,” Tony said, letting him know he was ready for social interaction.

Peter turned around to him and pointed his thumb at the pictures behind him. “Cute, Mr. Stark,” he said with a teasing smile.

Tony huffed a breath. “Pepper put those there.”

“Sure she did,” Peter answered, his grin widening.

Tony cleared his throat. “I hope you didn’t just come here to drink my sodas and mock my fiancée’s idea of interior design.”

Peter sobered and stepped a little closer. “I wanted to ask a favor.”

“You’re in luck. I do favors,” Tony said. “Sometimes.” He crossed his arms, leveraging him with a curious look.

“I would need access to the Avengers database.”

Tony hummed, tilting his head curiously. “You know that is exclusively for Avengers business.”

“I _am_ kind of an Avenger,” Peter answered. “You invited me into the team.”

“You turned me down,” Tony answered.

Peter leaned against Tony’s workbench. “It’s important.”

Tony heaved a deep sigh. “I guess so or you wouldn’t ask. Fine.” He walked to another workbench and used the keyboard, tapping out rapid commands.

Peter didn’t approach until Tony tilted his head invitingly, wanting to make sure he didn’t catch a glimpse of something he wasn’t supposed to. He was greeted by a window with a basic blue background and a search engine embedded in the upper left corner. It was almost a little bit disappointing. He’d expected at least an Avengers logo in the background or something.

“What are you looking for?” Tony asked.

Peter emptied the soda can and dropped it into the bin by the workbench as he answered, “Let’s start with Weapon X.”

Tony looked at him in surprise, his eyebrows raised. “What makes you look for them?”

“I’m sure you’ve read about the murder victims found this morning in Queens?”

He nodded.

“Turns out, whoever did that is using a teleportation device which causes the power failures that JARVIS registered. Some of them led right to that site. Others showed that he was teleporting around the city a lot, mainly to the locations of homeless shelters which are taking part in the Training & Placement Program. All the victims were part of that program.”

Tony’s eyes widened. “Are you serious?”

Peter nodded. “I had a couple of encounters with the guy. He seems to be after me for some reason.”

Tony pressed his lips together.

“I don’t know why,” Peter answered his unspoken question. “I think that whoever did this might be connected to Weapon X.”

“What makes you think that?”

“The condition of their skin when they were found,” Peter said. “They were covered in sores, kind of looked like radiation poisoning and at first I thought that might be it _but_ it has similarities with the Wade’s scars and since he gained them while being-”

“Stop,” Tony said, raising a hand. “Hold on a second.” His expression had gone dark, his brows furrowed and his jaw clenched. “Wade? As in Wade Wilson? Deadpool?”

“Oh,” Peter said, realizing that he’d dropped Wade’s name without even thinking about it. “Yes.” He frowned when he noticed that Tony’s expression darkened even further. “What’s wrong?”

“What exactly is your connection to Wilson?”

Peter straightened, his shoulders squaring of their own accord. He knew Tony wasn’t a threat, but he suddenly felt like he should brace for an attack. “We’re … we hang out.”

“You hang out.” Tony looked skeptical.

“It’s … it’s a little bit more than that.” He felt his cheeks flush.

Tony’s eyes widened at the implication but he sobered quickly, crossing his arms. “That needs to stop.”

Peter’s stomach dropped. “What? Why?”

“Do you have _no idea_ who that man is, Peter? Are you _that_ clueless?”

Peter clenched his jaw in indignation. “I know he’s got a spotty past. He told me.”

“A spotty past?” Tony echoed. “Are you serious?”

“He’s not a bad person.”

Tony turned away from him and huffed, taking a couple of steps as if he needed to calm down. “The way he handled Weapon X tells a different story, kid.”

Peter frowned. “You mean … he had them arrested.”

“Is that what he told you?” Tony turned back around to him and the way he looked at Peter made him feel as if Tony thought he was incredibly stupid. It made something in his chest twist and he was overrun by a wave of shame, though he wasn’t quite sure why.

“I …” He swallowed and tried to remember. “No, he … didn’t, actually. I assumed.”

“You assumed.” Tony nodded. “He killed them, kid.”

Peter stared at him. “No.”

Tony stepped closer, his arms crossed tightly and his eyes pinning Peter in place. “And he didn’t just kill them,” he continued. “He _maimed_ them. I’ve seen footage. He seemed to be having _fun_.”

Peter felt nauseous. He shook his head. “No, he wouldn’t.”

“I know the way you feel about killers, Peter. Would I lie to you?”

Peter swallowed and ducked his head, knowing that Tony wouldn’t. Not about something like this.

“I’ve got files,” he said. “The Avengers are looking for this guy. You need to tell me how to find him.”

But just because Tony wouldn’t lie to him didn’t mean he couldn’t misunderstand a situation. Something in the very core of Peter rebelled against the thought of Wade killing anybody for fun. It just didn’t match up with the guy he’d come to know over the last months. Sure, Wade was a little rough around the edges but a killer? A killer enjoying murdering people? He took a step back, shaking his head.

Tony’s expression melted, anger replaced by sadness … and even worse; pity. “Kid-”

“No, you don’t understand!” Peter answered. “He’s not a bad person.”

“Kid,” Tony said.

Peter suddenly hated that nickname. It meant that Tony wasn’t taking him seriously, wasn’t listening. “No,” he answered, shaking his head. “Just … no.”

With that he turned away, yanked his mask on and jumped out of the window.

***

Peter didn’t swing to the Flatiron Building to meet up with Wade. He also ignored several text messages that he received from him and Tony.

Despite his initial insistence that Tony was wrong, his mind didn’t stop racing with the things he had told him. Part of him steadfastly continued to refuse to believe it was true while another part – a smaller, more rational one – told him that Tony was rarely wrong about stuff like that. He collected his bag from their rooftop and returned to his apartment.

He took a shower and warmed up pizza left-overs and then noticed that he’d received an e-mail from JARVIS giving him clearance to access the Avengers database. Peter knew that this was just another way for Tony to try and make him see what he thought was reason, but Peter couldn’t ignore it. If at least part of what Tony had told him was true, he had to know. He settled onto his couch and used his laptop to log into the Stark Industries network and then the much more private server that Tony used for Avengers business. When he entered the database, he didn’t receive the usual message telling him he had no authorization. Instead, he was greeted by the drab blue background and several earmarked files. With a spike of annoyance, he noticed that the search engine was greyed out for him so he had only access to the files that Tony wanted him to see, but he pushed the feeling aside and started to read.

The records the Avengers had on Deadpool’s activities were extensive … and gruesome. Peter lost his appetite halfway through. He skirted around the files on Wade’s life before Deadpool, jumping directly to the path of destruction he’d left behind while taking out Weapon X. There were pictures attached but Peter didn’t open them. The words in the reports were enough to give him nightmares.

And even worse, somehow, than the Weapon X killings was the fact that Wade took assassination jobs on the side, that he was paid for killing.

Deadpool was described as an efficient and cunning killer with a tendency to prolong his victims’ suffering when he saw fit. He worked alone, taking out ten Weapon X major bases and countless cells by himself. The reports left no doubt about the fact that Weapon X was considered a dangerous organization that had to be taken out, so the Avengers weren’t looking for Deadpool because of _who_ he targeted, more because of _how_ he did it.

While the earlier reports still left open the possibility of recruiting Deadpool into the Avengers or maybe as a freelancer into SHIELD, the latter reports were clear on this not being an option.

Peter knew the Avengers had done their fair share of killing over the years as well – more or less justified in Peter’s eyes – but apparently, there were lines that shouldn’t be crossed and Wade had crossed them all.

He’d crossed Peter’s for sure.

It was almost two in the morning by the time he heard a noise from the window, the shuffling sound of someone moving to climb inside, but he didn’t turn to look at Wade.

“Peter?”

He clenched his jaw, waiting for Wade to come up behind him, close enough to see the screen of his laptop.

“Fuck,” he muttered. “He told you.”

“Tell me something,” Peter said, staring at the screen. “When you came to New York and followed me around and …” He swallowed. “When we first became friends and you asked about what the Avengers were up to all the time, did you …” He trailed off and ducked his head.

He felt resignation and sadness emanating from Wade, strong enough to overpower the sliver of anger he probably felt for Tony. “I tried befriending you because I knew that you cooperate with the Avengers.”

Peter closed his eyes.

“They almost closed in on me in Chicago and I had to lie low.”

“You came to New York and you didn’t take any jobs because you wanted to lie low,” Peter said. “And you became my friend because I would know whether the Avengers had caught up to you.”

It was quiet for a long moment. “I also thought, for a hot minute, that you’d make a great bargaining chip in case they would catch up to me. Everyone knows that Spider-Man and IronDick are close.”

Peter pressed his lips together, feeling tears gather in the corners of his eyes. He willed them down.

“But you have to believe me when I say that plan was scrapped pretty quickly.”

“Lucky me,” Peter muttered. He got up from the couch and turned to face Wade, his arms crossed.

Wade was still in his suit, but he’d taken his mask off. He looked sad, almost scared, which matched what Peter could feel from him.

“You never told me about the killings.”

“I didn’t want you to know.” He came around the couch. “I was planning to tell you, though. Really, I was. But … I couldn’t.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re a good man,” Wade said. “And for some reason, you were willing to put up with me. I reached a point where I just … couldn’t tell you. I know how you feel about killing and I … just couldn’t.”

“Well, you should have,” Peter answered angrily. “I deserved to know! You _know_ that I felt someone die, that I know _exactly_ what it’s like to …” He swallowed. “… to feel your body struggle to breathe, to know that you’re not going to make it, all that fear and …” He shook his head. “I hate that this is something you do to people for fun or for money!”

“I stopped taking jobs-”

“Because you went into hiding!”

“Because of _you_!” Wade answered heatedly. “It’s been eight months. The Avengers stopped actively looking for me five months ago! Do you really think I’d still be here if all this was is just an interim solution?”

“I don’t know!” Peter answered. “I have no idea because I don’t … I don’t know you!”

“Yes, you do!” Wade answered and stepped forward. “You know me better than anyone, better than yourself, you know how I feel.”

Peter ducked his head.

“You know how I feel for you,” Wade continued, softening his voice, his hands reaching out to cup Peter’s jaw. “You know that I’m trying to be better. To be different. You _know_ this.”

Peter closed his eyes, letting Wade’s emotions wash over him gently, picking up on the affection and admiration amongst them, on a feeling that seemed small, just starting to bud, but with a potential to become bigger than all the others. He felt tears climb into his eyes again and opened them, blinking against the wetness to clear his vision.

His eyes landed on the report of 27 killings in Newark.

Disgust and anger curled in his stomach, the thought of those people dying not sitting right with him. There should have been arrests. There should have been prison time. They should have been exposed to the world instead of quietly burrowed. He stumped down on the emotions, averting his eyes from the laptop and instead staring at a spot on the wall. He reminded himself that people could change, that Ben firmly believed so. He reminded himself that what he and Wade had was something real, something wonderful, something special. It didn’t mean that he would just overlook what he’d learned but he found himself unable to give up on it, either.

“I know,” he whispered. Then he leaned up and pressed a kiss against Wade’s lips, fleeting. It was all he could manage right now. “It’s okay.”

When he finally met Wade’s eyes, he found them narrowed and anger was starting to burn through their connection. “Yeah, it’s okay,” Wade said scathingly. “Because I’m the only choice you have, right?”

“What?” Peter asked.

Wade turned away from him. “You know this whole Empath thing doesn’t go just one-way, right? I could _feel_ you cringe just now.”

Peter clenched his fists. “You can’t expect me to immediately be alright with this! I’ll need time!”

“Right,” Wade said, “to check whether your Empathy is healing, right? To see whether you can touch others. Because if that is the case, you won’t need me.”

Peter felt his stomach drop. “You can’t be serious.”

Even though Peter felt devastation roll off him, Wade’s eyes were narrowed in anger. “Be honest, Peter, if you’d had options from the start, would you have ever kissed me in the first place?”

“That is an unfair question,” Peter said.

“And that is a No.”

“No, it’s not! It’s an unfair question, it’s purely theoretical! I kissed you because the moment was right, because it felt right!”

“Well, this moment right now didn’t!” Wade snapped. He turned away from him, putting his mask on. “I’m out of here.”

“Where are you going?” Peter asked.

Wade turned around to him, mask firmly in place. “I don’t think this thing is working out.”

“What?” Peter asked. “Just like that?”

There was a long pause, during which the expression on Wade’s mask didn’t change and the emotions Peter felt from him shifted from anger to resignation. “Consider it a favor,” he finally said and left.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **The wonderful art in this story was created by violettavonviolet. Click on[the link](https://violettavonviolet.tumblr.com/post/642182508605292544/art-masterpost) to find the art post!**

Peter didn’t sleep and spent Sunday at the shelter helping out to avoid thinking about Wade. It didn’t really work, his thoughts straying while he was helping Carol update paperwork and cleaned out the filing room.

When patrol time rolled around, he wasn’t sure what to do and finally decided to do his patrol as he usual, determined not to let his private life interfere with his duties as Spider-Man.

He didn’t see Wade, though.

Peter tried to convince himself that he was glad while he took a quick shower after patrol, but he still wasn’t able to catch any proper sleep for the second night in a row. His Empathy felt weirdly off, unbalanced and on edge. He tried to convince himself that the reason was the couple next door fighting loudly for several hours, but he knew deep down that wasn’t the only reason.

By the time he had to get ready for work on Monday, he had barely caught four hours of sleep in the last two nights.

Riding the subway seemed worse than on any other day. The emotions of the people around him seemed more jarring, the enclosed space more claustrophobic. By the time Peter got off the three stops early to walk the rest of the way, his hands were shaky and he had developed a crushing headache. He made sure to take small back alleys and less crowded streets for the rest of the way.

When he finally arrived at the Tower, he was running late and hurried to enter and get up to his floor. He took the stairs up to the 27th floor instead of the elevator and finally arrived at the lab half about forty minutes later than he was supposed to, hurrying past Anne and Craig who were once again huddled around one screen together. He felt deep affection and arousal from both of them as he passed and threw them a glance. Their fingers were touching, Craig’s rubbing over Anne’s and Peter quickly walked on, ignoring the subtle display of affection.

Something must have happened over the weekend, because he’d never noticed this chemistry before.

“Parker,” his supervisor Dr. Reid snapped, leaning into the room from his office, “you missed the team meeting.”

Peter nodded quickly. “I know, I’m sorry.”

“Read the minutes,” Reid said. “There’s action points for you.”

Peter nodded and quickly changed out of his hoodie jacket and into his lab coat before pausing for a moment, leaning his forehead against the cool wall of the lab. He closed his eyes, taking deep, measured breaths. He could feel somebody approaching, the contempt and jealousy thick enough he would probably be able to cut it with a knife.

Patrick’s aggressive emotions battered Peter’s already fragile state of mind, his headache increasing. Patrick’s voice was low as he said, “Dr. Frazier stopped by earlier. Looked kind of disappointed when I told him you were late.”

“Leave me alone,” Peter said, turning and trying to move around him to get to his desk, but Patrick stepped in his way. Peter stopped short, taking a step back to bring distance between them.

“I really hope this doesn’t cost you the chance of working for his team.”

Peter’s expression hardened. “Let me pass.”

Patrick smirked.

There was an exasperated sigh, then Anne’s voice, “Christ, Patrick, act like an adult for once and leave him alone.”

Patrick turned around to her. “I’m not bothering him. Parker and I are good friends, aren’t we, Parker?” His arm came around Peter’s shoulder, his hand brushing along Peter’s hairline accidentally … and Peter’s Empathy short-circuited.

It had been a while since he’d made physical contact with someone, Wade being the exception, and for a moment, Peter wondered how he could forget that it hurt this much. He barely had time to push Patrick away before his knees gave out on him. It felt like he was falling right through the floor, only remotely aware of the way his knees hit the linoleum. The contact between Patrick and him had lasted for less than two seconds, and yet everything that he felt seemed to have found time to flood in, overwhelming him completely, Peter’s own emotions washed away by all the jealousy and anger and the grudge that Patrick held, Peter’s Empathy finding the input too much to deal with, resulting in his headache becoming too much, hitting him like a train.

And that wasn’t even the worst.

As if all the floodgates had been opened, Peter could feel the emotions of the people around him much clearer, as if his Empathy was a nerve laid bare during the first onslaught and now helpless to stop the input. The worry and surprise that flickered up were quickly pushed aside by a rising urgency and fear enveloping him, a bright panic shortening his breath into sharp bursts, revulsion running down his spine as he heard Patrick say, “… I fucking didn’t. He’s faking it.”

A hand grabbed his shoulder, shaking roughly.

Peter yelped at the contact, trying to escape, but the hand just fisted his lab coat, anger and fear increasing.

“Stop it, Parker! What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Peter didn’t even think about it, his spidey-sense joining he chaos to scream at him that somebody was going to hurt him, _‘do something, you idiot’_ and so he reacted … he grabbed Patrick’s wrist, the feeling of revulsion, jealousy and anger intensifying now that he was in direct contact with their source again and he couldn’t bear it anymore, didn’t want to fall even deeper, so he did the only thing that made sense to him and _pushed back_.

There was a scream, then Patrick’s wrist was suddenly gone from his grip and it felt like he was falling … and then there was nothing.

***

Peter woke to the smell of antiseptic burning in his nose and the muted sound of footsteps and rubber wheels on linoleum. He was lying in a hospital bed, the room around him quite big and comfortably furnished for its purpose. It was a single room, too. Probably a perk of the health insurance Stark Industries employees got.

He blinked in confusion, shifting slightly, and found Tony looking back at him from his seat at the side of Peter’s bed, wearing an Iron Maiden t-shirt underneath a stylish suit jacket. Sunglasses were tucked into his breast pocket and he was holding his phone, as if Peter waking up had interrupted him scrolling through his Twitter account. “Hey, kid,” he said. “They said you were showing signs of waking up so I came as soon as I could. You were out of it for two days.”

Peter’s initial reaction was confusion. “Tony?” For a moment, he wondered whether he’d gotten hurt on patrol, but he scrapped that thought just as quickly. He couldn’t remember going on patrol. The last thing he _did_ remember was … he closed his eyes and slumped into the pillow in defeat.

“Yeah,” Tony said. “ _That_ happened.”

Peter looked at him. “Is Patrick okay?”

“He blacked out but woke up pretty quickly again. He’s perfectly fine. I talked him out of pressing charges.”

Peter winced. “He was going to?”

Tony cleared his throat, his dark eyes turning earnest. “What you did, pushing your emotions on him, it could basically be seen as an attack. But no legal charges will be filed against you. HR still decided to suspend you.”

“But it was an accident.”

“Kid,” Tony said. “Prove it.”

Peter turned his head away, his eyes looking out the window at a bright blue summer sky. “I can’t prove it.”

Tony let the silence hang for a moment, before he said, “Luckily, they can’t prove the opposite, either, so I think that they will decide in your favor once they’ve talked to you about the incident.”

Still, Peter felt his eyes well with frustrated, angry tears.

“Kid, it’s gonna be fine,” Tony said.

“I know. It’s just …” He grimaced, hating to come across so vulnerable in front of Tony but also knowing that it was too late for any dignity. “It’s unfair.”

“I know,” Tony replied solemnly. “But rules are rules. It has nothing to do with your Empathy, though. If you two had ended up in a fist fight, it would be the same procedure. Patrick was also suspended for a day until he had his meeting with them. Both your files will have an entry regarding this. Your colleague Anne told them that Patrick provoked you.”

“The perfect Monday after a perfect weekend,” Peter muttered bitterly.

Tony hesitated for a moment before he asked, “You and Wilson-”

“It’s no longer an issue,” Peter answered softly.

Tony didn’t say that he was sorry; Peter would have known that was a lie. Instead, he said, “Just hang on, kid. Things will get better.”

Peter swallowed thickly and closed his eyes. “He’s the only person I can touch, Tony. If the incident with Patrick proves anything, it’s that my Empathy isn’t healing. It’s still broken.”

It was quiet for a long time. Peter didn’t look at Tony but he could feel Tony staring at him.

“He touched you?” he finally asked.

Peter didn’t answer but he turned his head to look at him.

Tony’s eyes had widened in understanding. “That’s how you came up with that whole Anchor-Empathy thing, right?”

Peter indicated a nod.

“I’m sorry, Peter, I had no idea.”

“I’m just …” He took a deep breath. “I’m just so alone, Tony.”

Tony’s hand settled on the edge of the mattress as if he had intended to grasp Peter’s wrist but stopped short. “I’m here,” he said.

But he sounded like he knew that that wasn’t a comfort.

***

The hospital released Peter shortly after he woke up, simply asking that stayed with someone for the night. Tony offered Peter the guest room he’d used a couple of times in the past after joining the Avengers for trainings or battles and Peter accepted. They spent a couple of hours listlessly watching tv before Pepper came home and they ordered pizza for dinner.

Peter decided to give the couple some privacy afterwards and retired to his room.

But he couldn’t sleep.

So he left his room just after midnight to head down into the workshop. “Hey JARVIS,” he said.

_“Mr. Parker,”_ the voice answered politely, _“a pleasure to see you again.”_

“You, too,” Peter answered with a smile. He got himself a soda out of the fridge and spent a couple of minutes looking at the projects that were laid out on the various workbenches.

_“Mr. Parker,”_ JARVIS finally said, _“I have registered new power failures in the city over the last two days. Would you like to see them?”_

“Sure,” Peter said, suddenly realizing that, indeed, two days had gone by. Surely, the killer must have moved around in that time. Maybe, Peter would even be able to get an idea of where he could find him.

A 3D hologram of New York flickered to life near him and Peter stepped a little closer, using his hand to tilt the map so he could look at the city from a bird’s eye view. The new surges of the last two days were blinking red, while older entries were pulsating in a soft blue. Peter focused on the red marks and quickly noticed that many of them overlapped in Red Hook, near Pier 12.

Brooklyn.

He zoomed in. “Satellite view, JARVIS.” It looked to be an abandoned property amongst a cluster of commercial warehouses and stacking yards, not unlike the one Peter had found Maggie and the other victims in.

He swallowed, undecided. His suit was in the guest room, so he could go and check it out.

He knew, though, that Tony wouldn’t be happy about him just leaving so shortly after having been hospitalized.

Then again, he felt fine.

It was an easy decision to make, really.

***

The building was as derelict as the satellite pictures had made it out to be. It was a two-story warehouse, some of the windows destroyed and graffiti covering most of the outside wall.

Peter used the crane on the neighboring property to keep a look-out, trying to identify any activity within the warehouse. His thoughts wandered to Wade automatically, and he wondered whether he should call him and ask him to join. Then he berated himself for being pathetic for even considering it, for wanting to call and try to establish contact. Wade hadn’t called or texted even once since he’d left Peter’s apartment four days ago. It wasn’t as if Peter owed him anything and yet … Wade _had_ helped him to track this guy down, had been just as invested.

It seemed almost unfair not to at least offer.

Peter dialed Wade’s number and waited nervously for him to pick up, but eventually, it went to voicemail. “Hey, Wade,” he said and swallowed. “Listen, I …”

There was so much he wanted to say about their fight and about how he felt and about how much he missed Wade … but it didn’t seem right over voicemail. Also, he felt silly for calling at all.

Releasing a breath, he said, “I think I found him. I didn’t know if … maybe you want to come by. I’ll send you the location.” He lowered the phone, his thumb hovering over the _End call_ button before he added quickly, “I kissed you because I wanted to. You must have felt that that night, right? You would have known if I had done it just because I thought you were my only shot. You would have felt it.” He swallowed. “It was wrong of me to pretend it doesn’t bother me when it does. Clearly, I should have known you’d feel it. But …” He bit his lip. “I hate that you killed for money. That doesn’t mean I hate _you_. I know you stopped doing that.” He shook his head at himself. “What I’m saying is … maybe we should talk some time. If you want to.” He hung up and quickly sent Wade a pin with his location before he could change his mind.

Then he took a deep breath and focused back on the building. It was still lying dark and seemingly abandoned. Peter swung over and clung to the wall, checking both floors for activity carefully. The ground floor was one large space, a pile of empty bottles in one corner, dirt clinging to the floor and the few intact windows, the smell of mold hanging in the air.

Peter found a heavy-looking door at one end, slightly ajar the end of the hall. His sensitive ears picked up on the hum of a generator somewhere. Carefully, he peeked through the crack in the door.

The man was standing at a high table, dressed in old jeans and a t-shirt, quickly typing into a laptop. When Peter moved to the side a little, he could just make out an empty gurney, restraints limply hanging down the sides of it. He opened the door more, relieved when it didn’t make a sound and stepped into the room.

“It’s rude not to knock,” the guy said. He didn’t turn around to Peter but he had stopped typing.

Peter tilted his head, his fists clenching. “It’s also rude to start fights and leave in the middle of them.”

The man closed the laptop and picked it up, moving towards the wall to tuck it into a bag. He moved casually, as if Peter’s presence didn’t bother him at all. “I believe it’s called picking your battles.”

“You were just scared to lose,” Peter answered.

The man laughed. His fists clenched and released, his shoulders rolling back and his stance tensing. “Well, not this time.”

With that, he attacked.

Peter was prepared, though. The speed with which the guy rushed at him didn’t take him by surprise anymore and he was easily able to dodge most of the punches and kicks thrown at him, while delivering some blows himself. Just like during their last encounter, the hits didn’t seem to have any effect on the man, though. Peter suspected that he was immune against them, which in turn gave him the advantage of being able to use his strength at its full force without killing the guy. One of his punches sent them man back into a wall hard enough that it cracked on impact.

He hardly stopped, though, coming at Peter again immediately. His next punch gave Peter an electric shock and he yelped, quickly jumping out of the way before he could be hit again, shooting a web at the man’s ankle to yank him off his feet. He prepared to shoot more webs to trap the man against the floor but his opponent simply raised a hand towards Peter and he was ripped off his feet and slammed against the ceiling. The concrete was brittle enough to break and Peter found himself being hit by debris when he fell back onto the floor.

He coughed, a couple of ribs groaning in protest when he got up and looked at the guy in surprise. “New trick?”

The man wore a manic grin, his blue eyes alight with glee. “You like it?” He moved his hand towards Peter again but he evaded the pull by jumping to the side, only to be caught in the invisible grasp by the guy’s other hand and slammed up against the wall, his teeth clicking together painfully, before he slammed onto the floor and was flipped to lie on his back.

He struggled, trying to break free, but the grip around him was invisible and unforgiving, trapping his arms against his sides. He raised his head to look at the man stepping closer and regretted it when it was forced back against the hard floor. The pain reverberated through his skull and for a second, he thought he might lose consciousness.

He forced himself not to, looking up as the man towered over him. His expression was utterly cold, though a spark of interest lingered in his eyes. “You’re impressive.”

Peter huffed a frustrated breath, still trying to break free. “Thank you, I guess.”

“The last few enhancements,” the guy added conversationally, “the ones I added after our first encounter, I added them for _you_.”

Peter grimaced. “So you are able to absorb powers?”

The man smiled, coming down on one knee beside him. “And I’m going to enjoy yours: agility, strength, a sixth sense of sorts, the crawling along the walls. I can’t wait.”

A gunshot cut through the air and Peter could see that the bullet hit the guy’s head and ricocheted to the side. It probably didn’t even leave a scratch, but it caught the man by surprise so that his grip on Peter loosened. Peter rolled to the side quickly as more gunshots rang out, bullets hitting the man’s chest and head. Peter looked to their source and saw Wade standing just inside the room, the eyes on his mask narrowed grimly as he shot until no more bullets came.

But the guy was still standing, now facing Wade, his expression dark.

Wade pulled out his katanas, running at him and was thrown to the side with a flick of the guy’s wrist. Peter used the chance to attack, sending the man towards Wade with a kick to his back. Wade had rolled to his feet in the meantime and threw one of his katanas at the guy’s chest but the blade just clattered to the floor when it hit him, useless. In retribution, Wade was sent back against the wall hard enough that it cracked.

Peter shot out a web to the hand the guy was using to keep Wade suspended and yanked it backward, sending the guy off-balance. He cursed and turned towards Peter in one fluid motion while he fired up the electricity in the hand that was webbed up. Peter let go of the web before he could get shocked and brought his hand up to shoot again but he was pushed back against the nearest wall, his head ringing when it collided with the concrete, before he saw the man’s still webbed up hand move up and then forward.

By the time he realized the katana was heading _for_ him, it was already too late. He screamed out when it entered his shoulder and dug itself into the concrete he was pressed up against. The pain radiated from his shoulder out towards his chest and he gasped, feeling blood run down from the wound. The man barely turned away from him as he moved his hands again, the useless bullets strew around the room levitating in the air for a moment before they were sent Wade’s way and hit him dead-on.

Peter screamed out as Wade fell and didn’t move again.

“Pathetic,” the man spat and stepped up to Peter, one hand closing around his throat while the other pulled off his mask. He barely looked at Peter, though, apparently not overly interested in his identity. Instead, he pressed his bare hand against Peter’s cheek.

Peter gasped for air as he felt the man’s emotions flood him unexpectedly, the desperation and jealousy overwhelming him completely. At the same time, something deep in his chest started to hurt and he felt his heartrate pick up, the touch against his cheek becoming unbearably hot, pure agony ripping through him hard enough that he wanted to scream, but only a choked whimper escaped him.

Triumph was spreading through him, the feeling of having _won_ so strong that it overtook everything else … it was as if he could feel his power being leeched, as if they desperately tried to cling to him, to not be taken, the pain causing a ringing in his ears.

He kicked out and the man laughed, leaning in close, “My skin can’t break and I don’t feel pain.”

Peter felt that he was close to losing consciousness and – gripped by a sudden, desperate idea – started to claw his glove off his hand, his awareness narrowing down to the hand on his cheek and the manic feeling of success in his chest. His heart beat a mile a minute, black spots dancing in front of his eyes. He finally got his glove off and raised his hand closing his fingers around the man’s wrist. “You’ll feel … this,” he forced out before focusing on every shred of agony and fear he felt and pushing them outwards.

The guy gasped, his hand on Peter’s cheek slipping.

Then he screamed.

He tried to step back but Peter kept his grip on his wrist, even though his head dropped forward limply and his feet refused to hold him up. The blade in his shoulder was jostled and he gasped weakly while the man kneeling in front of him screamed yet again and tried to free his grip from Peter’s.

Then he fell, slumping to the floor, his hand yanked from Peter’s weakened fingers at last.

Peter’s gasps for air were the only sound in the room for what felt like a long time, the blade digging into his flesh, the aftershocks of his physical contact with the man trying to pull him under.

He was losing his fight.

Peter heard hurried footsteps and felt somebody lift his face carefully … and then everything went black.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **The wonderful art in this story was created by violettavonviolet. Click on[the link](https://violettavonviolet.tumblr.com/post/642182508605292544/art-masterpost) to find the art post!**

Waking up was a chore.

Peter was disoriented and felt tired to the bone. He wasn’t sure what had happened or where he was. He was resting on something comfortable at least. His senses were dulled, as sluggish as his brain. The only thing he knew with certainty was that he was safe, because he heard Tony’s voice drone on, though he couldn’t quite make out what he was saying.

As he lay there, waiting for his body and senses to adjust, bits and pieces of his memory returned, the fight in the warehouse coming back to him … but everything that had happened after he’d touched the guy was mottled and unclear.

He opened his eyes slowly, blinking at what seemed to be the same hospital room he’d woken up in the last time. White, sterile and just a bit too fancy to be run-of-the-mill. Tony was looking at him from his seat at Peter’s bedside. His face was drawn with concern and his eyes earnest, his dress shirt wrinkled. He kept his voice low as he said, “Hey, kid.” There was a constant stream of affection and concern wafting off him, gentle and just a little bit exasperated.

Peter swallowed against a dry throat. “How long?”

Tony handed him a cup of water which he accepted, his hand trembling a little. Tony watched him, waiting for him to take a few sips before he set the cup down on the bedside table. “Three days,” he finally answered. “The doctors say you gotta stop doing this. It’s not good for you.”

“Didn’t _feel_ good,” Peter murmured.

“Aside from the physical effects, it could damage your Empathy even further,” Tony explained.

“Not planning on doing it again.” He swallowed and used the remote to lift the head of the bed a little, wanting to sit up. “What happened?”

Tony heaved a breath. “Wilson called me from your phone, told me what happened, told me to come and get you. I didn’t see him when I arrived but I’m pretty sure he was nearby. The villain of the month was there, tied up and unconscious. We got you to the hospital and him arrested.” Tony smiled. “Congrats on taking him down.”

“Wade helped,” Peter answered. He took another sip of water, starting to feel a little more alert. “Who is he? The guy.”

Tony leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “Aron Rigby. Works at Townsend Clinical Services.”

Townsend Clinical Services … the name rang a bell.

Peter frowned, trying to remember, but Tony already continued, “They do the blood sample analysis for the voluntary health check of the Training & Placement Program.”

Peter’s eyes widened. “That’s the connection.”

“Yeah.” Tony shrugged. “Rigby isn’t talking but we got his laptop and I had a look at it. It’s interesting. He compiled a lot of information about the program that created Captain America. I don’t think he got that information legally. There are also Weapon X files and correspondence with Weapon X affiliates stored on the laptop. He managed to fine-tune their process, recreated the super soldier serum, customized it and finally managed to actually _pick_ the mutations he wanted to trigger. And he had access to a pool of blood samples enabling him to find people who carry the ability to mutate.” He tilted his head. “His work is really impressive, if you forget about the whole serial killer thing.”

“Why didn’t he just inject himself?” Peter asked. “If he wanted certain powers and knew how to create them, he could’ve just given them to himself?”

“What he couldn’t do,” Tony said, “was remove the physical impact of bringing on the mutation the way he did. Apparently, customizing mutations causes the same damage that forcing mutations does sometimes. And since he himself is an enhanced human able to absorb other enhancements, he took the detour.”

Peter swallowed. “He wanted to take my powers next. He increased his skill set to be able to fight me.”

“He didn’t expect you to use your Empathy as a weapon,” Tony said. “You did a number on him, too. Your colleague only needed a couple of minutes to recover but Rigby … he was out for hours.”

“I didn’t hold back.”

“Seems that way,” Tony answered.

It was quiet for a long moment. Peter looked toward the window, at the sun shining in the cloudless sky. “Wade is gone, isn’t he?”

He heard Tony shift in his seat. “I haven’t seen him.”

Peter nodded. He hadn’t known what he’d expected, really. Wade must have heard his rambly message, considering that he had joined the fight against Rigby, but apparently, Peter’s words hadn’t been enough to give them the chance to work things out.

He wasn’t sure whether that was a good thing.

“You were right, by the way,” Tony said, pulling him from his thoughts. “I looked it up.”

“What?” Peter asked, turning towards him in confusion.

“Deadpool hasn’t killed in eight months. He hasn’t killed since he started to hang out with you.” He cleared his throat, scratching at his goatee in a gesture showing that he was uncomfortable. “Maybe I have to accept the fact that he deserves a redemption arch. I got mine.”

“It’s not like it matters,” Peter said. “He’s gone.”

***

Peter’s Empathy was taxed after two attacks happening so closely after one another. Moving around the city was more difficult than usual, every strong emotion of the people around him setting his nerves on edge.

HR contacted him the day after he left the hospital to call him in for an appointment to talk about the incident with Patrick. The conversation with the representative was uncomfortable and tense and almost sent Peter spiraling into another attack. The man he spoke to was irritated and dismissive, prying into Peter’s Broken Empathy relentlessly and finally insisted on marking Peter as disabled in his file, muttering about maybe having to add a new checkbox for empathic impairments.

Peter was allowed to return to work afterwards and was directly transferred into Dr. Frazier’s team. Who had another conversation with Peter about his Broken Empathy upon HR’s recommendation. Peter had never wanted people at work to know about his condition and now it felt like everyone knew.

All in all, Peter was glad when the weekend rolled around. He spent a lot of time in the suit, only going home to sleep for a few hours. He also caught himself swinging by the rooftop him and Wade usually met on, but he didn’t see the other man. Not that he’d expected him to be there, but a small part of him had still held out hope. Mainly because he wanted to thank Wade for coming to his assistance and calling Tony. Peter didn’t know what would have happened if he hadn’t.

He’d probably be dead by now.

It was mainly that thought that led him to do what he did during lunchtime on Sunday: sending a text message to Wade. _Dinner? I’ll buy._ He hesitated before adding a second message, _Can we talk, please?_

Wade didn’t answer.

Peter bought pizzas anyway and went up to their spot, waiting while they cooled, then while he ate two of them, then while he watched the sun go down. Finally, with a heavy heart, he gave up on waiting. He didn’t even know if Wade had got his messages. For all Peter knew, he had got rid of his phone by now. He still dialed the number and waited for the voicemail to pick up. “Hey,” he said, swallowing and was suddenly at a loss for words. He huffed a laugh. “I know we haven’t talked. I know … why. I just thought … I won’t bother you again, I promise. I’ll stop. I just wanted to thank you for the other night. That was … thank you. I … am okay now and the guy’s behind bars so … everything turned out fine. It probably wouldn’t have without you.” He paused, looking at the pizza boxes set aside for Wade. “I don’t know for sure why I am able to touch you, but … the more I think about it, the more I believe it’s not a freak coincidence. I think …” He swallowed. “I think it happened because we already had a connection. So, if you think I was only interested because you’re the only one I can touch, it’s not true. I was … _am_ interested because … I like you. A lot.” He sat there, trying to think of anything else to say but coming up empty.

The voicemail beeped and the connection was ended.

Peter nodded to himself and released a sigh. “That’s okay,” he murmured and got up to leave.

***

Peter pushed his hood down when he entered the hallway of his apartment building, nodding a greeting at Mrs. Ramirez and Mrs. Dawson, who were standing in their open apartment doors having a chat as usual. They smiled back at him, silently waiting for Peter to vanish up the stairs. His enhanced senses helped him hear Mrs. Ramirez say, “Always alone, that boy.”

“I’ve got a niece his age. Intelligent girl. Maybe …”

He tuned them out, shaking his head with a smile.

He climbed the rest of the stairs, looking forward to a shower and maybe the Indian left-overs in his fridge. When he turned the corner to his apartment, though, his smile froze and he stopped dead.

Wade, dressed in a hoodie and sweatpants, was leaning against the wall opposite Peter’s door, a white plastic bag resting at his feet. He met Peter’s eyes. “Hey.”

“Hi,” Peter answered and stepped closer slowly. The closer he came, the more he became aware of his Empathy calming, the jagged edges of its brokenness soothed.

“I brought dinner,” Wade said. He felt hesitant and insecure, but somewhere in the pool of emotions that rested beneath those primary ones, Peter also identified affection and happiness.

“I can see that,” he answered. “I’m pretty hungry.”

“You always are,” Wade said, picking up the bag.

Peter unlocked his door. “Come in,” he said and waited for Wade to pass before entering as well. He remained by the door, fiddling with his keys, while Wade set the bag down on the kitchen counter.

They looked at each other for a long moment, then Wade said, “I got your message.”

“I wasn’t sure whether you would.” Peter set his keys down and shrugged his messenger bag off his shoulder.

He slid open his window to let some air into his apartment. It had started to rain a few hours ago and hadn’t let up yet, the air starting to become cooler as a result.

“So,” Wade said.

“So,” Peter replied, turning to face him.

They were quiet, staring at the bag for a long moment.

Then Wade said, “I don’t need you to like all about me. I don’t need you to approve of my past. I won’t apologize for it, either.”

Peter crossed his arms. “Okay. Then you need to be alright with me not being okay with it.” He stepped closer. “But me not being okay with it doesn’t mean I like you any less. I know you’ve stopped doing … that. I know you’re a good person.”

Wade huffed a breath. “Then what can I do? Because I can’t have you cringe when I touch you.”

“I need you to be honest with me. I need you to tell me everything. I don’t want any more surprises. And I’ll need time to process it.” He swallowed. “And I’ll need you to sit down with Tony. Because they’re still looking for you. And I want them to stop.”

“They’ll arrest me,” Wade answered, shaking his head.

“They know that you took out the bad guys. They know that already. They just want to know who you are, and they need proof that you’re not dangerous. Tony knows we’re associated. It has to happen sooner or later.”

Wade rolled his eyes. “Fine, I’ll meet with IronDick. Later.”

Peter nodded, understanding the unspoken message that Wade wanted to make sure that things between them could work out first.

Wade started to unpack the bag, piling burritos on two plates.

“What do _you_ need?” Peter asked.

Wade paused. “Honesty goes both ways,” he answered. “I’d rather you tell me you need time to process than touch me and …” He swallowed, shaking his head. “That’s what I need.”

“Done,” Peter said. “What else?”

Wade hesitated, fiddling with the empty plastic bag.

Peter felt longing roll off him. “What else?” he asked, softer.

Wade pressed his lips together, then he stepped around the counter and held out a hand.

Peter took it, let Wade pull him into a hug. He closed his eyes, tucking his face into the bend of Wade’s neck. “Is that all?” he asked.

“For now,” Wade answered. He stepped back, his eyes going to the burritos. “So, dinner and honest storytelling?”

Peter shook his head. “Not tonight,” he answered. “Let’s just have dinner. Honest storytelling tomorrow.”

“Just dinner,” Wade answered. He leaned in, waiting for Peter to close the gap between them and press their lips together for a sweet, short kiss. “Sounds like a plan.”

END

10/2020


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